


The Rockrose and the Thistle

by MhaighdeanBhanUasal



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: A&I Live, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Armed Conflicts, Canon-Typical Racism, Child Abuse, Colonialism, Elsanna Week (Disney), Elsanna Week 2021, Epidemics, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, I think? I wouldn't know how to explain it in short tag, I'm making it sound worse than it actually is, Indigenous Character, Internalized racism, Mixed Character, Only a little bit of incest guilt, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Racism, Sibling Incest, Some Plot, Trauma, You know. It's probably not half as bad. I think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28826103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MhaighdeanBhanUasal/pseuds/MhaighdeanBhanUasal
Summary: With the return of the King and Queen after their travel in the North, life in the royal palace was turned upside down. What was secret no longer is and the dangers loom over the family from a different angle. Princess Anna is sent by her own father on a quest she is to fulfill inside a single room. She has many tools at her disposal and all the time she may need, but her antagonist refuses to give in without putting up a fight. She will fight against her attempts until her dying breath.The walls have ears and the trees have eyes. Dangeous, unexpecting feelings catch up with the Royal Family. Shadows of the past claw at the children of their country as an uncertain future looms in the horizon like a full-rigged frigate ship, and the Princess must take arms like the knights of old to defend her home.
Relationships: Agnarr & Iduna (Disney), Anna & Elsa (Disney), Anna & Iduna (Disney), Anna & Kristoff (Disney), Anna/Elsa (Disney), Elsa & Iduna (Disney)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 42





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Good Morning! This is my project for Elsanna Week 2021. I've been working on it ever since the prompts were announced, and I got really invested in this story, so hopefully I did a good job and I'll be able to capture your attention! This is a single story of seven chapters based on the seven prompts, most of which will hopefully be updated within EA week (January 18th - 24th, 2021) on their respective days. I have most of the story written, and worst case scenario is I'll end up posting the very last chapter a few days too late, which is okay by me. 
> 
> As I wrote this story, I set myself a 5k word limit for each chapter, which I don't think I kept for more than one chapter. I got excited, one thing led to another, and now the story is around 60,000 words long. Oops. I think I got carried away because this was a story I was dying to tell, and since the prompts for Elsanna Week happened to be so fitting, I thought, why not? And I made an effort to summarize it into neat seven chapters to be posted here, now, in this week. I worry it might be similar to other content I've produced in the past, but if I may say so, I don't see it as me being unoriginal as it's me never being satified with how I communicated my ideas, and trying again now that I have the time, space and freedom to write as I please. 
> 
> Please remember that English isn't my first language. Any writing flaws and grammar errors are the English language's fault. Not mine. Remember. Not mine. It was English. Blame the English.
> 
> The following story contains consensual sibling incest, child abuse, armed conflicts, descriptions of illness and small epidemics, canon-typical racism, descriptions of colonialism, mentions of mild violence, despictions of anxiety, trauma and panic attacks. I personally don't think it's nearly as bad as I'm making it sound here, but I must put all the warnings that technically apply.

The day of the King and the Queen’s return, the staff woke Anna hastily with rattling knocks on her door.

“Your Highness,” the maid urged. “Your Highness! The King and Queen are waiting for you.”

“Oh?” Anna mumbled, rubbing her eyes and pushing herself up into a sitting position. "They’re… back already?” 

She yawned and stretched. The world outside her cozy blanket cocoon was dark and cold and she wanted nothing but to retreat into the safety of her bed.

Her eyes widened.

“They’re back!”

“Your Highness, may I come in and…”

Anna jumped off her bed and swung the door open, nevermind her messy hair and wrinkled nightclothes. 

“They’re back already! Oh, do you know when I can see them?”

“They’re asking for you, your Highness.” Said the old maid.

“Wait, they are?” She blurted. The maid opened her mouth to reply but Anna interrupted her by grasping both of her hands and shaking them. “Thank you so much! I’ll go see them now.”

Her bare feet padded against the wooden floor as she made it down the hallway. The maid called after her, insisting she put on her corset at least, but she gave up when Anna came to a halt in the middle of the corridor. She answered the question before Anna had to formulate it.

“In the library, your Highness!”

“Oh! Thank you!”

And in the library she found them. Mother knelt by the fireplace, covered by furs like a frightened animal, and two maids, Rina and Sigrid, shed Father of his heavy coat, heavy as a dead brown bear hugging his secretly narrow shoulders. The wood crackled and moaned under the fire's punishment.

“Anna,” Said Mother then. She raised her head and spread her arms. “Come here.”

Anna didn't hesitate to drop to her knees and burrow into her mother’s embrace. She smelled the scent of winter wind in her skin. Mother draped her white fur coat around Anna’s shoulders.

“It’s so good to see you again!” She laughed right into Mother’s ear, although she did not seem to mind. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Mother whispered. “My little sunlight.”

Anna grinned. She pulled back to look at Mother in the eye, and she could see stormy skies behind her pupils. The corner of her mouth was tense and so were the tendons of her neck. 

Anna frowned. She dropped her hands to interlock her fingers with Mother’s.

“Is everything alright?”

Father grunted. Mother’s lips were pressed into a tight line.

“Agnarr,” Mother softly said.

His two layers of coats pooled at his feet. Rina and Sigrid hurried to pick it up and carry it away from his sight.

Only then Father turned to his daughter. He offered her a warm smile despite the bags under his eyes and the dirt in his hair.

“Anna,” he said with a forced chuckle. “Hey. Good morning.”

He gestured at her to come, and Anna squeezed Mother’s hands before raising to her feet and running up to her father, holding still the white coat around her shoulders. She threw her arms around his neck and he held her in a way that made her feel tiny and fragile.

“Welcome home, Father, ” she said as she pulled away. “How was the trip?”

“It was… interesting, indeed,” he said, exchanging a strange look with his wife. “Anna, sit down. There’s something your mother and I need to talk to you about.”

“Agnarr, can’t it wait?” Mother asked. “It’s barely past midnight.”

Anna hadn’t noticed, with all the curtains drawn, but the itch behind her eyes gave away the pathetic two tiny hours she’d had of sleep. She hoped her tutors would forgive her just one more time and allow her to sleep in after the welcome party was over.

“It’s okay, Mother,” Anna reassured her. “What is it?”

Father looked at the two maids by the doorway, who seemed to become smaller under his gaze.

“Fetch what I told you,” he ordered. “And bring the Princess her breakfast.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“As you order.”

They scurried out of the room, grasping the coats for dear life. Anna opened her mouth to thank them, but the door was closed shut once more before she could utter a word.

“Um…” she knocked her knuckles together over her chest. “Did something happen?”

“Yes. Sit down, Anna. Now.”

Father gestured at the table by the window. Anna quietly obeyed, and she held back her desire to open the curtains and see the sky. The sight of Arendelle and the fjord at night was gorgeous. 

“How was the wedding?” She asked. “I bet it was wonderful. I couldn’t stop thinking about the parties and dresses. Was the braid a pretty one?”

“Anna,” Father said, in a warning tone, as he approached the table. He did not take a seat. “There was no wedding.”

Anna clamped her mouth shut. She observed her parents.

“Oh, was it cancelled, then? That’s terrible! The bride and groom must be devastated. Wait, did something happen to one of them?”

“No, Anna, and there was no bride and groom,” Father continued. By the fire, Mother’s coat rustled as she slowly stood up. “Your Mother and I have been… taking care of a serious matter for the last several years. We believe it is time for you to know.”

Anna’s sleepy mind slowly processed the words her father spoke. There... there was something she didn't know. Something they'd done in secret. Did they lie to her? And to everyone else, presumably. Well, except the ship crew, unless they could handle a whole vessel on their own. Which maybe they did! Who knows?

“Know what?” She asked.

Or maybe it was the question she’d willed herself to forget, to accept the gaps as if they were a part of nature’s wholeness. Every now and then something scratched at the scab and she always let it harden again but… the tissue below never quite healed. 

She squashed the larva of an idea before it could grow bigger. She'd given up on asking about the doors a long time before. But she still inched closer to the edge of the chair, her heart quickening in anticipation. She’d loathe giving herself hope only for it to be snuffed out again— she was quite intimate with that kind of heartbreak. Yet her youthful mind allowed itself to question: Why? Why are there so many gaps? What is missing in my memory? What is missing in our family and what are you _finally_ going to reveal to me?

She bit down on her tongue, so she wouldn’t interrupt Father when he began his explanation. It was something very delicate she was terrified of breaking.

Father looked at Mother, his friend, his partner, his Queen.

“Shall we get to the point?” He asked with a tight, lopsided grin that faltered when he thought no one was looking.

“We’ve waited for a long time already, haven’t we?” Was her reply. Father took her permission as a cue to settle on the chair across from Anna, folding his hands over the table.

“Anna,” he said. “The first thing you must know is that magic still exists in Arendelle.”

Anna blinked.

“That wasn’t what I expected to hear,” she blurted without thinking, her words a placeholder that gave her brain the time to catch up with Father’s words and disseminate them. Magic? South of the Mist? Yeah, alright. It would be easier to understand whatever came next if she acted under the assumption this was true right away. She trusted it would make sense later, and if Father had lost his head, that would too come to light soon. Hopefully. She frowned. “Wait, in Arendelle? I thought the Mist had trapped all magic in the North.”

“That is what your mother and I believed for a long time,” Father said. “But there are creatures, not different from the Northuldra in the North, who are capable of manipulating magic even more so than any reindeer herder.”

“Agnarr,” Mother softly interrupted. “Don’t derail.”

“My apologies,” Father said. “But I believe it’s important she has the whole picture, especially considering the quest that will be assigned to her.”

Anna’s eyes widened.

“Wait, what?” She asked. “I’m being sent on a quest?”

“No, not at all,” Father chuckled, placating her worries. “Your quest can be fulfilled just fine within the walls of this castle.”

“Well, what is it?” She insisted, growing curious and impatient.

Father took a deep breath, his hardly-wide shoulders seemingly growing wider and stronger as his ribcage expanded.

“Your sister has a gift, Anna,” he explained. “It is not like the ones in Northuldra, or in the Valley of the Living Rock. She’s different.”

A gift… Northuldra…

“Elsa has magic?” Anna asked, and she sounded stupid to her own ears because, yep, that was effectively what Father had said.

“Well, you could put it that way,” Father nodded. “It’s not easy for her to deal with her gift. This is why she isolates herself.”

“What do you mean?” She asked. “Wait, has this gift always been there?”

“It has,” Father nodded.

“Even before the gates were closed?”

“Yes, Anna, even then.”

Anna nodded. Elsa. Powers. Of all possible explanations… that sure was one. An explanation. The idea of Elsa cutting all contact with the outside world had never quite made sense to Anna. She used to be such a carefree and exuberant girl and to one day disappear and dedicate herself entirely to her formation as Crown Princess was simply not like her. Or was it? The change had been too abrupt for Anna to believe she had simply grown up. And as Crown Princess, surely one must assist council meetings and official celebrations which… were barely even held anymore. 

But magic? Like in Northuldra? Something so allegedly difficult for her to deal with? Something there was no… no protocol, no designated course of action or plan of study for? Now _that_ would merit extreme measures, wouldn’t it? Like… a turtle being poked with a stick. Maybe she could snatch the stick from its attacker if she knew how or if someone else suggested the idea to her, but her instincts were to curl into herself and hide. 

And in Arendelle… especially in Arendelle…

Well, Anna was no stranger to the history of her country. 

Her common sense waved a red flag in her face. Magic? In Arendelle? In the hands of the Crown Princess? That could be anything but good. Sorcery was greatly dangerous— so had proven King Runeard’s Expedition to the North, nearly twenty-eight years prior. All of her history books, the hymns of her people, and the very paintings in the walls she’s befriended pointed to the same conclusion: that magic did not belong in Arendelle, and it would be its downfall. 

Yet Anna couldn’t help but feel otherwise. Elsa had clearly kept her country in mind, as a good Crown Princess should, and if her isolation (plus the closed gates) had the objective of “dealing with” the magic, as Father put it, then it was obvious that Elsa’s gift wasn’t Elsa herself. If anything, it was akin to a parasite that could be treated with adequate medicine. That was, of course, assuming Father wasn't pulling her leg and Elsa did, indeed, have magic.

Of course, not everyone would see it that way.

“Is that why the gates were closed?” She continued. “To protect Elsa?”

“To protect Arendelle from Elsa,” Father clarified. He carefully searched for the right words: “It has come to our… understanding, that Elsa’s magic is meant to be interpreted as a gift. Your mother and I have tried our best, but we’ve recently hit a dead end.”

“We didn’t travel through the Southern Sea, Anna,” Mother intervened. ”We went North, much, much farther North, looking for answers about your sister.”

“Did you speak to a Northuldrean?” Anna asked, and Mother’s eye twitched.

“No,” she said to her. “There were no Northuldreans.”

“Even if there were, I doubt they’d have the answer,” Father added. “For the past ten years, we’ve done everything in our power to keep you and your sister safe. But you’ve grown into a smart young woman, and it’s time we finally include you in the protection of this secret.”

Anna opened her mouth to say something— that she wouldn’t disappoint them, that she still struggled to believe it, that she still had so many questions, that she’d like to see Elsa again and if that could be possible— when a knock on the door announced the presence of the castle staff bringing breakfast to the Princess. They carried bread, smoked salmon, and lingonberry juice in a small, heavy tray, which Anna helped place on the table.

“Thank you,” she said. She looked at her parents. “Do you want some? We can share.”

“No. But thank you, Anna,” Father said. Mother inched closer and playfully whispered:

“I’ll have some lingonberry juice.”

Anna smiled and poured some in a glass. Meanwhile, Father approached the open door.

“Come in,” he commanded. “Now.”

Anna only had a moment to wonder who he could possibly be talking to when a shy figure entered the room, and she must be spilling the lingonberry juice all over the table because nothing in the last ten years had made her drop her jaw as quick as the sight before her. One gloved hand tightly gripped the other over her sister’s breast, _tightly_ , tight and _still_ like her hunched spine, as her feet carried her forward. One step after the other. The echo of her soft shoes against the wooden floor pounded into Anna’s ears like a hammer inside her skull. 

Her breath hitched. Their eyes met and Elsa took a step back. She pursed her lips into a tight line.

Father stood up, and Anna followed suit, rising to her feet and pushing back the chair. As it scraped against the floor, it produced a noise that made her teeth rattle.

“Elsa?” She squeaked, and immediately blushed at how small and pathetic her voice sounded. And her older sister, perhaps even more confused than Anna was, took a deep breath and squared up her shoulder before turning to Father and asking:

“What’s going on?”

The sound of her voice caught Anna off-guard. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard it, but she was certain it hadn’t been as hard and raspy as it now was. The Elsa she remembered sounded like chiming bells and falling snow. This person sounded like a grown woman. A Crown Princess.

Well, it was a beautiful voice nonetheless. Anna would be happy to hear it answer all of her questions, because she still had plenty! Why now, for example? The trip, of course, it had been the trip! They’d… Their parents had _seen_ something, had an epiphany of sorts. And if the time came then, but Elsa’s gift had always been present, how come Anna didn’t know of it? What was the gift in question, exactly? Where did it come from? And most importantly, how could Anna help?

Father’s gaze hardened.

“Take a seat, Elsa,” he ordered.

“Your father and I…” Mother began, giving both of her daughters the same look. “We have something important to tell you.” She turned to Elsa. “You don’t need to sit at the table if you’re not comfortable, Elsa.”

Father frowned, but he allowed Elsa to remain standing. And as for Elsa’s, her eyes were either fixed on Anna or avoiding her at all cost, depending on whether Anna looked back at her or not.

“We’ve decided it’s time Anna knew about your magic,” Father plainly said, straight to the point.

Elsa’s eyes opened wide as plates. 

Oh. So Father wasn't pulling her leg.

“What?” She asked, in a cold, unforgiving tone, and Anna shivered. She wrapped her arms around herself, but her body couldn’t care less for the chilly breeze when her heart jumped into her throat and set every muscle on edge. She glanced at her sister, and found her breathing heavily and unevenly.

“No,” Elsa said. She looked at Anna and then quickly tore her eyes away. “You can’t.”

“We already did,” Father argued. “It will be easier for all of us if you could collaborate.”

Elsa took a step back.

“No,” she repeated. “Father, please.”

Father raised an authoritative hand, and Anna shivered again. Mother coughed, cleared her throat, and decided to take the matters into her own hands. She said:

“Elsa, please listen to us. Your father and I have made grave mistakes in the past. We’ve done things that hurt us all when your sister and you didn't deserve it.” She glanced at her youngest. “But Anna is older now. She's learned a lot during these last years, even if we didn’t notice…”

“Or we noticed too late,” Father supplied.

“Not too late,” Mother countered. She turned to Elsa again. “I know you're scared, but I also know you love your sister with all your heart. Don’t you think she deserves to know the truth?”

“Elsa,” Father said as he placed a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Your sister can help you if you allow her.”

Anna’s ears perked up (figuratively).

“Wait, I can?”

Elsa looked at her in a way that could only be described as disgust.

“How?” She asked. “How could she help me? It isn’t safe.”

“What do you mean? How bad can it be?” Anna insisted, glancing at her parents. “I’ll help. I’ll do anything you ask from me.”

Father gave her a warm, proud smile.

“I know. And you’ll do a great job.” He squeezed her shoulder, and her heart swelled with pride. Then, he turned to his eldest. “Elsa, look at her.”

Elsa didn’t look at her.

“It was wrong keeping you apart,” he continued. “We didn’t know how to help you, and we still don’t. But if anyone can find a way, it’s her.”

Anna bit back a smile as Father squeezed her shoulder tighter. Her heart quickened. She could help. She could be _useful_ , and if she could help Elsa with… with whatever monsters she was fighting, she would go down with blood and swords for her. And maybe, she could even get her sister back.

Yes, anything. She’d do anything. 

“Please, Elsa,” Anna pleaded, lowering her head and trying to find her sister’s eyes. “Please, let me in.”

Elsa’s breath hitched, her ribcage freezing and locking in place. Her eyes flickered up to meet Anna’s before lowering again. She swallowed thickly and closed her eyes.

Training began, as things usually did when they came down to Anna, only after Anna had a good nap. She insisted on starting right away— forget breakfast!— but Mother insisted she needed all five senses working correctly if she wanted to help her sister in any way. This, thank goodness, gave Elsa enough time to panic.

Because all of a sudden the rug had been pulled from below her feet. With no explanation or warning provided, her parents turned her world upside-down to thrust her into the wolf’s den. Because ten years of trials and tribulations were proven worthless— _worthless_ , _meaningless_ hurt— in the moment Anna _knew_ . She could not look her in the eye. She couldn’t stand the tears that hadn’t been there back in the library but she knew were to come, sooner or later. The pain, the betrayal, the realization, and all of that… all of that… _pain_ . Pain of ten years. Pain of a lifetime. She’d been five when she was abandoned. _Five_. How much of those five years did she even remember? The last two? Three, perhaps? Three years at most of trust and love and happiness, the rest was… it was…

If it was half as sorrowful as the last ten years of Elsa’s life, she would never forgive herself.

And now the wolves were set free.

Elsa had been pacing inside her room for at least an hour. She counted the seconds. Three thousand, six hundred and six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Three thousand, six hundred, and ten seconds. She’d been panicking even longer. The frost covering the windows and the fireplace were proof of this.

What now? Oh, what now, what now? Now Anna knew the truth, and in part, that lifted a huge weight off everyone’s shoulders, didn’t it? Anna would certainly be happy to not be kept in the dark anymore. But Anna was _fifteen_. A mere teenager. Elsa didn’t know if she trusted her to keep the secret and be intelligent about it. The picture of Anna spilling her secrets in the court presented itself to her, and her mind slammed her back into reality, into second three thousand six hundred and twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. She focused on the grandfather clock against the wall, which still ticked despite the frost creeping up its body. It cracked painfully like a bone popping, like the breaking of rock.

She could not look her in the eye.

Anna had had… she’d had so much faith in her all those years. For so long Elsa had prayed her to be gone from her doorstep, to stop hurting her with her innocent sing-song voice. And when she finally did stop… Well, it hurt even worse.

Would she still look at her the same way she did when they were little, knowing her sister was a dangerous creature, much akin to those from the North? Would she forgive her when he knew she had nearly killed her as a child?

Perhaps it would be better if she didn’t. 

Mother and Father were wrong. They didn’t know. Anna wouldn’t help her. Having her close would only make it worse. Elsa would— she’d get _nervous_. She’d lose control. Anna might want to hug her or play or— she wouldn’t take the danger seriously. She’d do something stupid and Elsa would hurt her once again.

Or maybe she’d use that brilliant brain of hers for something other than stealing cookies and fooling the staff so she could sneak into a council meeting with the Ambassador of Weselton. Maybe she’d understand, now that she had all of the information, how important it was for her to keep her distance. Mother and Father were wrong, after all. They were wrong to think Anna could help, and they could be wrong regarding their assumption that she’d even be willing to try. 

Elsa desperately clung to that tiny flicker of hope. Maybe letting Anna know wasn’t such a terrible idea, in the end. It would certainly be easier to get a grasp of her snow and ice with Anna’s collaboration. If she could only give her space… if she could only understand how, exactly, she could help, then maybe something good could come out of the whole ordeal.

She chastised herself for being stupid and naïve when a familiar, rhythmic pattern of knocks on her door pulled her out of her head. Of course, Anna wouldn’t give her space. She’d want to help, and to Anna, ‘help’ was synonymous with being present. She was still a child, after all. She never seemed to understand.

Her heart pounded unusually heavily. She swallowed, closed her eyes, and placed her forehead on the cold wooden door of her bedchamber.

“Elsa?” Anna’s sweet voice called from the hallway. “Can I come in? I just… I thought maybe I could have a word with you?”

Elsa’s lips stretched into a bitter grimace. Rejecting her never got any easier.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Anna added. “I know it mustn't be easy for you. What am I saying? Of course it wasn’t easy. It… It’s probably the hardest thing you’ve ever done. I mean… both hiding it from everyone… this. Today.” She chuckled awkwardly. “I just… I wanted to thank you. For looking after me, I mean. I don’t think I could ever thank you enough.”

Elsa’s eyes watered. No, no, Anna shouldn’t thank her for such a thing.

“I didn’t know you cared so much about me. Actually, I feel a bit silly for thinking you didn’t. Of course you do. You’re my big sister. You know what’s best for me. I’m… Oh, goodness, my hands are shaking.” She laughed. “Uh… That’s all, I think. I just wanted to tell you that. I’m not angry at you or anything. I just… This is a bit of a shock. But I understand why you were afraid. I’m not afraid of you, though. I’m happy because… we can solve things together now, right? Father said I could help so… I’ll… I’ll do everything I can to help you, Elsa, I promise.”

Elsa’s eyes screwed shut. She didn’t deserve this kindness. 

Of course, Anna would only put herself at risk.

The door shook again under a heavy fist.

“Elsa,” Father’s voice called. “Let your sister in.”

Elsa’s breath hitched. That had never happened before.

“No,” she said, taking a brief look at the frost on her desk, on her bedsheets and across the carpet. “I can’t. Please, tell Anna to leave me alone.”

Father sighed. Elsa could perfectly picture him rubbing a hand over his face.

“I know you’re scared,” he said. “But I need you to trust me with this, Elsa. Open the door.”

Did she trust him? She didn’t know, but he was her father and her King, and she had little choice, in truth. So she placed a gloved hand on the doorknob and slowly twisted it, holding her breath as she met the sight of Father standing proudly behind Anna, who bounced nervously on the balls of her feet.

“Hi,” Anna shyly waved at her. Elsa willed herself to take a breath. She looked up at the King.

“What do you need, Father?” She asked. She wanted to make clear this visit had a punctual and specific objective that could be met swiftly and without small talk. 

“Anna is ready to begin,” he clarified, and Elsa held back a sigh of frustration. Anna must have caught a glimpse of it anyway, something, perhaps, in the way her eye twitched, or in the corner of her mouth, because she looked down at the tips of her shoes and held her hands behind her back. 

She moved aside to let them in, and stood quietly by the door, ready to hold it open when the time to leave came. Anna, however, took her sweet time observing every shameful corner of Elsa’s bedchamber. She ran curious fingers over the frost on the fireplace and marveled at the ice covering the glass of the windows, eyes wide and jaw ajar. 

“Oh, Elsa... This is amazing,” she sighed, and to herself, she added: "Yep. You have magic. My sister is magical. I have a magical sister."

Yep, just like when she was little. 

Elsa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. No, Anna, it was not amazing, and you shouldn’t even be in the room. 

Anna then turned to face her sister again, keeping a comforting space between the two. Elsa was aware that her sister wore gloves and a coat, which was reassuring enough. She would not be cold. 

“Where do we start?” Anna asked, to which Elsa responded by raising an eyebrow. 

“Nowhere,” she said. “You shouldn’t be here. It isn’t safe.”

“Elsa…” Father began. 

“Can we at least… talk about it?” Anna pleaded. She glanced at their father, and he seemed to understand.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said, and Elsa’s stomach dropped.

“Do you have to?” She all but begged, knowing there was little left to be done. She wouldn’t convince their father.

“It will only be an hour,” he said, as if that made it any better. “Listen to your sister, Elsa. It will be fine.”

She helplessly watched him disappear behind the door, locking Anna inside the room with her older sister. She heard her shiver behind her. 

“Can we light up the fire?” She asked. Elsa nodded.

“There’s a box of matches in that drawer,” she gestured at her desk, and Anna quickly opened it, fished the matches from inside, and pretty much stuck her head inside the cold fireplace to check the logs were still in proper condition to burn. Elsa wouldn’t be surprised to know they were completely frozen.

They were not, however, and after some struggle, Anna managed to set one of them on fire. She sat by the hearth and waited for the fire to grow.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly said. “I know you’re not comfortable.”

Elsa just stared at her. She didn’t say a word because she had no words. She only took a seat on her bed, on the other end of the room.

“If you want to help, you’ll give me the space I need,” she stated.

“Mother and Father said…”

“Mother and Father were wrong,” Elsa cut her off. “I know they’re trying their best, but I don’t think they know how to help me. Nothing we tried has ever worked.”

Anna, who had listened as she searched for a fire poker, finally found one and, with a triumphant smile, dug it deep into the fire to stab the firewood.

“What did you try?” She asked, and didn’t add anything else. She just waited patiently for Elsa to gather her thoughts and formulate an answer.

She sighed. Glanced at her hands. Glanced at the fireplace.

“What did they tell you?” She asked. Anna shrugged.

“Oh, you know,” she said. “Nothing. Just the basics. They said it had something to do with your emotions, and that it was a gift. Oh! And they also told me why I have this.” She grabbed her right braid and showed it to her sister. 

Oh. So they did tell her everything.

“Then you know why it’s dangerous for you to be here,” she insisted.

Anna shook her head.

“I know you would never hurt me on purpose,” she said. “It was an accident, Elsa. It won’t happen again. I’ll do everything in my power to help you control it.”

“What power, Anna?” Elsa argued. She was beginning to feel sick of Anna’s naïvety. “The only way you can help is by staying away.”

“Well— We don’t know that!” Anna countered, with an adorable, infuriating little pout. “Mother and Father are asking for my help. Maybe we can... figure something out together. We can find a different angle. I know we can!”

“Anna, no,” Elsa repeated. “If you’re not willing to listen, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Anna’s mouth snapped shut. Opened again. Closed again.

“But...” Her voice trailed off. “I want to help.”

“Then leave,” Elsa said. “That’s the best thing you can do.”

Then, Elsa made the mistake of looking into Anna’s eyes, and she found so much pain and betrayal in them, that her own heart quivered, and she had to screw her eyes shut to prevent tears from forming.

Pushing Anna away never got easier, no, but it was harder to do so when looking directly at the hurt she caused her.

Anna blinked rapidly.

“I miss you, Elsa,” she confessed. “Now I know why you had to hide, and I understand. I would have helped you hide. I want to help you now! I just… I just thought… maybe we could be friends again.”

Elsa inhaled deeply and held her breath.

How stupid, how naïve of her to think Anna only wanted to help. Of course she wanted to lend a hand, but Elsa had foolishly forgotten this came from a place of love.

Anna simply wanted love. She wanted her big sister to return to her.

If that was the price to pay in exchange for Anna’s help, then it was something Elsa couldn’t give her. 

“Go away, Anna,” she said. “I need to be alone.”

She didn’t watch Anna stare at her, or rise to her feet, or languidly pace towards the door. She only opened her eyes when she heard it softly click shut. 

She exhaled, then, and finally allowed herself to breathe. She prayed Anna would quickly forget about this whole ordeal and comply with Elsa’s request.


	2. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 1:25 am which means it's officially Day 2 of Elsanna Week! So I'm updating now lol

Anna’s quest didn’t come without reward, of course. And although she didn’t request or need any— being allowed to see her sister, allowed  _ into  _ their family secret, was more than enough—, Father’s offer was simply too good to pass up.

First and foremost, should Elsa’s powers be brought under control, it would be less of a risk to open the gates. This meant Anna would be allowed to leave the palace— always accompanied, of course— and, someday,  _ eventually _ , other people may come in. In Anna’s mind, this meant balls, parties, people and prince-charmings. Making progress with Elsa was quite a laborious effort, and a Prince Charming sounded like a good enough consolation prize.

It was something Father brought up two months into Elsa and Anna’s training, if one could call it that way. All they did most of the time consisted of Father or Mother forcing Elsa to let Anna into her room, and then of Anna trying to strike conversation until Elsa kicked her out. She found that some topics got her kicked out quicker than others. Her record time was at two minutes, after trying to talk about the infamous accident when they were little. She asked Mother about the details later that day. The longest she’d lasted had been an hour and a half, when she got Elsa to talk about her studies. She had a predilection for mathematics and geometry, which wasn’t surprising because she was simply that smart. But then Anna mentioned something about how lonely it must have been to study on her own, and that made her sister snap back into reality and insist she left again. Father had noticed her laying her head on the table, using her folded arms as a pillow, and looking utterly and completely hopeless in the face of her sister’s rejection.

“I don’t get it,” she’d muttered. “I thought once we were back together, she’d want us to be friends as much as I do.”

Father had simply sighed and squeezed her shoulder.

“Your sister needs time,” he’d said. “I know you can do it.”

They’d spent some time discussing methods, options and mechanisms to help Elsa. Father mentioned having used board games as a tool in the past, when Elsa was younger. She would focus so ardently on the game that she’d completely forget about her powers, and she’d be able to (ideally) move the pieces without freezing them. Their last  _ hnefatafl  _ board, however, had been destroyed by none other than Elsa herself on their last game. She’d refused to try again with a new one after ruining that beautiful wedding present, of ebony and ivory and gold. Years’ worth of delicate hand-carving were snuffed out in an explosion of ice. And since no one in the castle played, no one bothered to get a new one. The King and Queen favored chess and checkers. 

That was why, perhaps, Anna’s first excuse to leave the castle in ten years was to find a  _ hnefatafl  _ board in the city. A cheap one, possibly. One that was easily replaceable and wouldn’t make Elsa feel too bad if it broke. Her mother was instantly fond of the idea, and while she was unable to accompany her, she helped her prepare for her trip. She got her a plain wool dress and work boots, and helped her braid her hair in a way that, while didn't hide her snow-white streak, drew less attention to her. Only a simple red bun beneath a big linen cap. She claimed it was easier to move around the city when nobody knew you. Anna would later have time to become a Princess of Arendelle.

Mother had a meeting— something to do with the Sjöberg family’s trade company and the price of exported muskox wool— and could only say goodbye to Anna when the time came. She kissed her forehead, hugged her, and whispered in her ear:

“You can’t believe how painfully I've waited for this day to come.”

She said these words with pride, relief and heartbreak, and the tone of her voice alone almost made Anna break into happy tears.

“I can’t believe I’m going out,” she whispered back, and as she pulled away from her mother’s embrace, she added: “I’ll be back as soon as I can!”

Mother smiled and shook her head.

“No. I want you to take all the time you need. As long as you return before sunset, it will be okay.”

That wasn’t worth much, because it was spring and in a village guarded by the tall cliffs of the Black Mountains, the sun disappeared around four in the afternoon, but that still gave Anna a whopping eight hours to rediscover the outside world. 

The doors opened only a fraction for her and her only companion to slip past them, and when they closed again, like the heavy mouth of a yawning dragon. Their echo shook the entire fjord. Anna breathed in and out, unable and unwilling to calm her racing heart. Kai, the steward and one of Father’s most trusted men, asked if it was too much— if they should head back, to which Anna responded by quickly and vehemently refusing.

She’d almost forgotten what the cold, dry, white wind felt like in her skin. White as the clouded sky above their heads, as the shy waves that rolled under the pressure of the breeze, like tiny lambs in the distance. She’d forgotten the salty smell of rotting wood, seaweed, fish, seal meat and whale fat in the port and its market. She’d forgotten the creak of colorless, dry leaves beneath her shoe. Sure, the trees were stripped naked of life— sprouts just beginning to rise—, and the waters of the fjord were as black as the cobblestone streets were grey, but to Anna, they might as well be the color of flowers, of tropical birds and of coral reef fish. With a wide smile upon her face, she dragged poor Kai all over the village, her quick feet jumping from cobblestone to cobblestone without touching the cracks between each one. She looked through the window of every store, bought one thing in every port market stall (excuse her, but the salt-cured herring looked absolutely _delicious_ ), and spoke to every person that would give her the time of the day. Kai had to physically hold her back from petting the muskoxen in the farms on the outskirts of the village, as they shed their _qiviut_ in spring and the Princess shouldn’t get muskox wool all over her new dress. The farmer overlooking the animals simply laughed at her.

And every time her feet needed to take a break from walking and walking and walking, she inhaled deeply and breathed in the free wind of the Arenfjord. 

The muskox farms were high on the slopes of the hills— which Kai struggled to climb, so Anna scrambled down to hold his arm and help him—, and if she looked down, she’d see the palace, down below on the fjord and surrounded by Arendelle, with its colorful wooden houses and cobblestone streets. Above the farms, only a few other buildings stood— the Faculty of Natural Sciences, the Weseltean Ambassy, and a few small windmills and watermills spinning below the thin waterfall and cuddled up to the inside of a protective cliff.

She imagined her father next to her, and what he’d tell her.

_ “This palace was built in the image of the stave churches,” _ he’d comment.  _ “I have to admit, the design is more aesthetic than practical. Look.”  _ He’d point at the wall surrounding the village, on the shape of an omega letter— not encompassing the palace.

_ “They could enter the city through the bridge,” _ Anna would mutter, observing the artificial isthmus connecting Arendelle to its palace. 

_ “They could, indeed.” _

The sight was… breathtaking. She couldn’t ever remember looking at Arendelle from this perspective. The hills and mountains always towered above her, but she’d never touched them as she did now, and everything— the smell of  _ qiviut _ and farm animals, of wood and earth, the cold wind numbing her face and hands— was so utterly  _ new  _ to her. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, your Highness?” Kai asked, and Anna couldn’t help but grin until her face hurt.

“Yes! I’ve never been happier!” She exclaimed. “I can’t wait to meet everybody.”

“Everybody, your Highness?” Kai asked, raising an eyebrow. “Every person in Arendelle?”

“Yep! That's what I said.” Anna declared.

She was brought out of her high when a cold droplet hit her nose. She blinked and wiped the water from her skin, but when she looked down at the dark woolen sleeves of her cloak, her eyes widened at the sight of shy snowflakes trapped on it.

“Snow?” She asked, a strong hand squeezing her heart with a strange, powerful emotion. The snowflakes were so soft and delicate, small, like a child. Like children running. 

“A late snowfall, it seems,” Kai nodded. “If we’re lucky, it will be nothing more than a light fall.”

Anna hoped it wasn’t. She hoped for enough snow to make snow-angels and snow-forts and snow-men.

An old, distorted, happy memory brought a smile to her lips.

She looked at the palace once more. The air was so cold now, it bit at her skin, and when she looked at her fingers, they were red and numb, but she found that she didn’t mind at all. She’d go so far as to say she enjoyed the feeling. 

But she’d forgotten herself. There was someone down there, in the palace, who was waiting for her. Even if she didn’t know it yet, and even if part of Anna didn’t want to go back. But her family came first— and so she, too, came first, as she was part of her family, and her happiness was not entirely separate from theirs. If  _ something—  _ not  _ someone—  _ in her family was ill, then everyone in her family was ill.

She and Kai made it to the town square, and leisurely paced down into the small labyrinth that was Arendelle— narrow streets guarded by tall, tightly-joint colorful houses and buildings in the shape of high triangles. Yellows, reds, greens, blues and oranges caught her eye, and made the village look lively despite the grey sky. A big portion of the city was suspended over the water, on wooden platforms and pillars to hold the houses up, and you could tell when the land ended because cobblestones gave way to dark wooden streets, like those of a pier. Small canoes hung from the outer side of posts that held the buildings, and some bigger houses across the omega-shaped bay had even their very own little docks, with their own boats attached to the bitts. The strong wood creaked under Anna’s weight as she followed Kai through a city he knew better than her. They crossed a small bridge between two platforms of city, and Anna found something thrilling about it— the feeling of adventure, it was, to discover something so wonderful and new. 

Once she’d told her about her plan, Kai brought her over to a woodworker he knew. She was a middle-aged lady with deep laugh lines, calloused hands, and hair braided into a long, heavy brown braid that fell down her back, like a thick frigate rope. Her name was Minka Gáhppásdatter. She smelled like wood and varnish, and so did her entire shop, where artifacts ranging from love spoons to great goat sculptures covered every corner, shelf and desk in the workshop. Everything exposed on the window was finished, yes— beautiful chess games, with white horses and black reindeer, swords and staffs, kings and shamans. Bedside tables embellished with three-dimensional rosemaling patterns and drawer handles shaped like eagle claws. Children’s toys such as horses and swords, each more intricate than the last— yet as you dove deeper into the lady’s workshop, more and more metal tools such as saws and chisels of various sizes came into view, alongside long workbenches busied with wooden projects, all of them with works in progress: a rocking chair without rockers, a small blue horse half-painted, a wide crib for a wealthy child with missing bars. It was so much like traveling back in time, unraveling and unmaking the progress of time until reaching the root of existence, in the form of simple logs that still retained their cortex and leaves. Minka Gáhppásdatter’s apprentices either moved back and forth searching for the right tools or paints, or sat at the wide workbenches on the center and sides of the workshop, which drew a snug, warm maze that only Minka Gáhppásdatter knew how to navigate. 

When Anna described what she needed— a  _ hnefatafl  _ board, not too pretty, if possible, Minka Gáhppásdatter stroked her delicate chin and guided her deeper into her small world of wood and sawdust. She couldn’t reach the tallest drawers of the wall, so she dragged a heavy tree trunk across the floor and balanced on top of it as she dug her hands into the darkness. It took nearly ten minutes of search between crowded shelves, drawers and boxes for Minka Gáhppásdatter to find what her client requested— a rectangular box that opened to reveal a  _ hnefatafl  _ board, with its small, flat, square pieces of similar colors.

“I hope you like it,” Minka Gáhppásdatter said. “This one is… very old. How old is it? The last one my parents made and the last one we’ll sell. Unfortunately, I’ve never learned enough about this game to carve one myself.”

It was beautiful. Rustic, yes, but strong and sturdy. Anna didn’t know if that was a good thing or not— sturdy meant harder to break, but it was too good and unique to be disposable. Considering how difficult it was for Minka Gáhppásdatter to find, she’d hate to ruin it. The object in her hands was suddenly far too precious to her.

“It’s perfect,” Anna said, though, running a soft hand over the rough, beautiful wood. “Thank you.”

She and Elsa would just need to take… baby steps. It would be fine. 

Her parents had given Kai all the money they would need, and he paid from the royal pocket a considerable amount of money that made Anna hold the  _ hnefatafl  _ board a little bit tighter against her chest. A big grandfather clock carved out of wood and shaped like a crocodile struck four in the afternoon, and that was their cue to go back home. Anna smiled at Minka Gáhppásdatter and shook her hand one last time— because she was a new person! It was incredible!— before closing the door, and once they’d walked past the smell of fish and seaweed, the grey cobblestones and the delicate bridge between Arendelle and the palace, Anna found herself once again face to face with the imposing gates of her home.

A tiny voice inside her head told her to run, run fast, run from Arendelle before they could catch her (catch her?), but she quickly squashed it down it and forced her body to follow Kai inside.

The gates opened and closed in a matter of seconds. The blink of an eye. The smell of seaweed,  _ qiviut,  _ sawdust and wind were all locked out, and Anna found it a little bit harder to breathe.

Dinner was quick. Anna spent a third of her time talking, a third shoving food into her mouth, and a third talking with her mouth full, telling her parents about the texture of muskox wool beneath her fingertips and all the amazing things that could be created out of wood. She even brought the  _ hnefatafl  _ game along, and set it next to her as she wolfed down on the lamb leg on her plate. Mother and Father smiled at the happiness of their youngest, and after giving each a quick hug, Anna sprinted down the hallway to knock on Elsa’s door.

It seemed like Elsa had given up on trying to stop her after month one. Anna suspected she’d gotten several scoldings from Father, and she felt a little bad about it. She hoped they were doing things right— she never insisted she gave her a demonstration of her magic, and she gave Elsa all the physical space the room allowed, even though she wanted to throw her arms around her sister and hold her really really tight. To be completely honest, Anna did… next to nothing, in reality. She was still trying to figure out the root of Elsa’s problem and its cure. If  _ hnefatafl  _ had helped in the past, perhaps it would help again now.

She smiled when her sister opened the door and let her in, as she always did. She knew Elsa didn’t like her much— she’d made peace with it. Really, it was fine—, which meant she needed to be as nice, polite and considerate towards her as possible, as a form of apology.

“Hello there!” She barged into Elsa’s room,  _ hnefatafl  _ board in her hands. “Brought you something.”

She extended the flat box towards her and gave Elsa all the time she needed to take it. She observed the rough wood with a frown— oh, no, she didn’t like it—, and slowly opened it to observe the board and the pieces, the layout for each plain flat square figure and the simple design pyrographed on the King piece: an eight-pointed star. All the pieces were of the same color, but around half of them had a notch to distinguish them from the others.

“Yep. Found a new  _ hnefatafl  _ board. I mean, it isn’t  _ new  _ new, but it’s new for us,” Anna explained. She cleared her throat and adopted a more serious tone of voice. “Father told me you used to play. I thought… maybe we could give it a try? It could be fun.”

Elsa placed the board on her desk, picked up a piece, and laid it back inside the box.

“This isn’t  _ hnefatafl _ , Anna,” she said. Anna’s heart cracked a little.

“Wait, it isn’t?” She asked. “Oh, I’m really sorry. You know, the woodworker who sold it to me said it was. It must have been a misunderstanding.” Anna observed her sister’s expression, but she could see no emotion in her eyes. She swallowed a little. “Do you want me to return it? I can try to find another one.”

“Who sold it to you?” Elsa pressed. There was a strange waver in her voice. 

“Minka Gáhppásdatter. She’s a woodworker in town.”

“Gáhppásdatter?” Elsa asked. “I don’t think Gáhppá is an Arendellian name.”

Anna’s eyes opened wide as plates as the realization slowly dawned on her. 

Elsa took a seat at her desk, sighing with exhaustion. 

“This version of the game is called  _ tablut _ ,” she explained in a soft voice. “It’s a Northuldrean game.”

Anna blinked.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s… bad, right?”

“It’s forbidden,” Elsa said. “It wasn’t only the language. Their symbols, their music… they shouldn’t be here.” She closed the box and snapped the lock shut. “ _ This  _ shouldn’t be here.”

“I’ll return it tomorrow,” Anna blurted.

“No,” Elsa countered. “It was a miracle no one’s recognized it this far. I’ll destroy it, just to be safe.”

Anna’s stomach sank. She immediately ripped the game from Elsa’s desk, away from her grasp,

“No! You can’t do that!”

“Anna, give me that.”

“I’ll hide it. I promise I’ll hide it. But I won’t let you break it.”

She felt the temperature of the room drop, as she was used to at this point, and although she willed herself not to shiver she could still see her own breath in the air. She could see Elsa, too, despite the dim lighting, and she could see her cold, hard eyes and her firm mouth. She held the game tighter, like a baby to her chest.

“Leave it here, Anna.” Elsa commanded.

“Not if you’ll break it.”

“I won’t. But leave it here.”

“How can I even trust you? What proof do I have that as soon as I walk out you won’t throw it into the fire?”

“You don’t,” Elsa declared sharply. “But I am your elder. You’ll will give me the board, and then you’ll leave.”

Her eyes stung shamefully. She tossed the box into Elsa’s bed and stepped towards the door.

“Just so you know,” she said. “I only went out to find it so I could play with you again.”

She slammed the door shut, and the sound echoed in the hallway. 

Anna didn’t even stay to listen for ice explosions or anything— she just exploded herself. She kicked the wall until she hit it too hard and hurt her toes, and then all she could do was to hop on one foot while holding the other. She nearly tripped over, too, and just barely regained her balance. And then she screwed her eyes shut so she wouldn't break into tears.

Why did Elsa have to be so… so… Elsa?! Why on Earth did Anna ever think they would simply go back to being friends again? Who even needs enemies with friends like her?

Maybe Elsa didn’t care about her. Maybe Anna was just stupid. 

She strode back towards her own room, where at least she wouldn’t be treated like garbage.

Anna didn’t bother with Elsa for almost a week. She had better things to do, anyway, like visiting Arendelle with Mother, who accompanied her every time she could, and paying visits to muskox farmers and to Minka Gáhppásdatter's workshop. When Mother was too busy, Kai would come along. She’d go out every day and stay out from sunrise to sunset. When she got hungry, she bought seafood from the port’s market or bread from the bakery, and she’d have picnics on the tree branches near the goat farms. She quickly learned about the eternal feud between the two greatest bakeries in Arendelle, the Vagnmørk Bakery and the Sandsgård Bakery, which had its origin in the times of Old Àrnadarl, when Vandræðiskáld of house Vagnmyrkr and Sigtryggr of house Sandrsgarðr, the patriarchs of their respective clans, had a fight to the death in which they both lost. It was never known which of them had challenged the other to a  _ holmgang _ , a very Old Àrnadarl-lian duel, but ever since then, the two family-owned bakeries had despised each other. In Anna’s opinion, they both made some excellent pastries. Anna also enjoyed listening to the sailors tell their tales of the Dark Sea, with its great sea dragons, siren calls, and waves great as mountains, although Mother was quick to pull her away from the docks at the most seemingly innocuous comments from grown men. 

“Is the Dark Sea the way they tell?” She’d asked once.

“No,” Mother had said. “It is ten times worse.”

Mother didn’t ask once about Elsa’s progress, thank goodness, but Father wasn’t quite as patient. He’d spoken to her over dinner about it, as she meekly played with a fork and her untouched food.

“Is everything alright?” He’d asked then. Anna only sighed.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she’d said. “I don’t think I can help Elsa.”

Father had frowned.

“We need your help, Anna,” he’d said. “Your sister loves you, and I know you love her too. If anyone can help her…”

“Oh, come on! She doesn’t love me!” Anna had protested, raising her head from the table. “She only wants me gone! I’m trying my best, but I’m tired of her pushing me away over and over again. And… please,” she'd pleaded. “Please don’t go talk to her about this. She’ll just keep pushing me away anyway.”

She had expected Father’s eyes to be warm or compassionate, but when she looked up, she'd only met a stern gaze.

“Anna, you’re going to listen to me,” he had declared in a low voice that made her feel way too small. “I don’t want to hear you say such a thing ever again. You need to understand the severity of the situation. You’re a part of this family, and you can’t opt out of this whether you like it or not.”

“I know, but…”

“Your sister is stubborn and scared. She needs you, even if she won’t admit it to herself.”

“Well, I’m stubborn too!” Anna had argued. 

“I can tell.”

“I just… I just wish she didn’t hate me so much.”

Father’s expression had then softened a little bit. He'd squeezed Anna’s shoulder.

“Tell you what,” Father had said. “Your birthday is coming up in a month. If you promise to give your sister one more chance, we’ll organize a small ball to celebrate.”

Anna’s eyes had widened a little bit, but then they'd settled back on her plate.

“It’s not that I don’t want a ball,” she'd said. “But… it doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, think about it,” Father had said, and he'd promptly stood up. “I have work to do right now, but I’ll be hoping to hear from you again tomorrow. Until then, take a break. Go enjoy the city. We’ll be right here when you come back.”

Anna could only nod quietly, and watch her father exit the dining room. 

She'd sighed tiredly, crossed her arms on the table, and rested her head on them. The following day would be another fight.

It was mere hours before the ball that the snow began to fall. Heavy, brutal spring-snow rained down over Arendelle, like anger, like punishment. 

Anna was shaken awake by frightened maids that dressed her up haphazardly and led her to Father’s office. He told her what to do even though he didn’t have to— she’d expected it when she first saw the dark clouds curling in the sky for the past three days and she expected it every night when she went to sleep. She’d tried to speak to Elsa about the ball twice, and both times she’d been swiftly rejected. She’d chosen to deal with her anxiety alone.

Yet Anna still approached Elsa’s door alone and knocked one more time, a single hour before sunrise. 

“Elsa?” Anna called. She heard pacing inside, which meant Elsa was awake and purposely ignoring her. Anna wanted to scream, but she swallowed all of her anger and knocked again. “Can I please come in?”

“Go away.”

Anna sighed.

“Elsa, please.” She begged. Her voice cracked. “It’s… well, it’s my birthday today. I know you’re scared, but can we  _ please  _ talk about it?”

Elsa remained silent. Anna might as well be talking to a piece of wood. She pressed the forehead to the door.

“Elsa, I promise you,  _ nothing  _ will happen. No one will know about your magic. No one will get hurt today. But…  _ please _ , we need to stop this storm. People can’t even leave their houses. We can do this together. Just… please, Elsa.”

Silent. Cold, dead silence. 

Her shoulders shook but she screwed her eyes shut and pressed the balls of her hands to her lids. She couldn’t cry. She refused to cry on her birthday.

She took a step back. The door was closed, silent and non-responding. And she had a duty— she had a  _ duty _ , something she could do for her country— but she couldn’t fulfill it. She was useless. Utterly and shamefully useless.

Her feet took her away from the door and down the hallway. She used to spend hours upon hours waiting for Elsa to come back only to now give up after a few minutes. Her patience and sweetness had worn out, like the sharp bristle hairs of an old hag's broom. What a failure she was. So much for a Princess of Arendelle.

She pushed the door open just wide enough to see Anna walk away.

It was her birthday. She'd never forgotten her little sister's birthday. She still remembered how sweet and happy she'd been on the five springs they celebrated together. Anna's bright and strong laugher could fill every room in the castle, like sunlight, like golden warmth spilling into every dark crack and cold corner. Even now— even now, after so, so long, her heart still swelled with love and adoration for Anna by just picturing her smile.

And now? It was stronger now. The real sound of her voice shook her bones and ribcage in a strange, profound way. What had once been a distant star was now the sun. A white-hot, blinding brand. 

_ Don’t feel, don’t feel. Stop it. _

It was scary. Having Anna so close was scary, and there were parts of this fear that she didn't understand. It was something she didn't feel ready for.

She loved her. She did this because she loved her, and because she wanted to keep her safe. She wanted her sister to have a long, happy life with people who could love her.

_ Happy... _

She still kept Anna's birthdays in mind and often imagined herself having the strength and courage to hug her and give her a present. She'd love to give Anna a present. 

She needed to stay away and keep her safe.

Deep, heavy guilt settled in her stomach. 

Surely, she must be doing a great job.

But the clouds receded towards the end of the day, and by the time the sun had set, only a light sleet clawed at the skin of each guest that dared to approach the palace. They came in carriages from their estates and embassies— only a small number were they, of ladies with extravagant hairstyles and men with ceremonial sabers strapped to their belts. Anna’s dress didn’t hold up to such an event, as it was only a pale ballgown reminiscent of a  _ bunad  _ style. She’d even left her hair in a pair of twin braids, covered by a simple embroidered wool cap that made her feel childish when looked at by the wives of ministers and dignitaries. 

The crowd was… bright and exuberant. Colorful and wild. They danced and played music to celebrate the Princess of Arendelle’s sixteenth birthday. The sound of their heavy feet hitting the wooden floor shook the bones of the palace, like the clatter of rain or hail. Anna’s dancing lessons proved useful when the sons of merchants and ambassadors kissed her hand and dragged her into the dance floor. Gaspar Sjöberg, the nephew of Oaken Sjöberg and heir to the empire that was the Wandering Oaken's Trade Company, was perhaps the one she’d liked the most. Belonging to an important merchant family and coming from the Kingdom of Sviarighi, he had a strong accent and didn’t speak Arendellian fluently, but their languages were mostly mutually intelligible, and he still found creative ways to communicate with Anna in the day he danced with her and in the careful expression of his face. What sold her was how embarrassed he looked whenever he stepped on her feet. He must have been her age— just a boy scared of messing up. His family had gifted her an honest-to-God tiny sauna, which he also looked embarrassed about. He’d mumbled  _ something  _ about it, which Anna assumed meant “sorry”, but she laughed it off and reassured him she’d try it. It was probably more fun than it looked like. 

It was the most lively the palace had been in years, and Anna could almost forget about her sister for a moment to enjoy the ball. She’d dreamed of that day for a decade, but she hadn’t actually earned it. She and Elsa weren’t making any progress, but the gates were slowly opening for her, even though nothing about the situation improved. All it would take would be one of the guest’s children playing hide-and-seek upstairs and stumbling upon Elsa’s frozen door for all of Arendelle to storm the palace with pitchforks and torches. 

Old habits die hard.

Father came to her at one point, as she stood on the balcony to observe the city. It was dark already, and the lights below twinkled like tiny stars. He placed a hand on her shoulder and said:

“You’re doing an astounding job.”

Anna looked down and said:

“I don’t think I am.”

“You stopped the storm today.” Father insisted. “I knew letting you in would be a good idea.”

Anna was beginning to doubt her helpfulness. She wasn’t sure how the storm came to an end but it clearly hadn’t been her. Maybe Elsa had figured things out on her own. Maybe Anna’s usefulness had run out. Maybe she'd never been useful at all.

They spoke of their family secret when so many strangers— because that’s what they were in the end: strangers— stood close to them, just behind half-closed double-doors of tinted glass. The royal family of Arendelle kept their country in the dark about the eldest child, and Anna wanted to say she, too, was part of their family, and that the truth had worth for her even if she wasn’t worthy of the truth. She wanted to know because it was unfair to keep her in the dark, and she forgave everything— she would  _ always  _ forgive, even if it was hard— but would they continue to lie even if she had nothing to offer?

She shook her head. What a ridiculous thought. Mother and Father— and even Elsa— were doing everything with their best intentions. She shouldn't be so hard on them when she knew how difficult, how painful it had been for everyone.

So she didn’t say anything. Instead, she looked up at her father, and found him staring at a point in the mountains. When she followed his concerned gaze, her eyes fixed on a small light on the top of the hill.

“The ambassador of Weselton didn’t show up.” He pointed out. “Strange. I’d swear he assured he would.”

“It’s okay,” Anna said. “I’m still having a lot of fun.”

Father nodded thoughtfully, not moving his head one inch.

“That isn’t what I’m worried about.” He continued. “Excuse me.”

And as simple as that, Anna’s birthday celebration was turned into the King and Queen’s negotiation table. The following hours consisted of less music, less dancing, and more concerned ministers conversing with their monarchs and each other. Foreign visitors were just as concerned as every Arendellina guest. Anna quickly abandoned all desire to dance and approached her parents, hoping to catch a word or two that would give some insight into what was going on, but she’d only heard something about insolence and a childish, vengeful attitude when her mother put a hand on her shoulder and said:

“Why don’t you head to bed, love? I believe it’s quite late. Your father and I will continue to talk with these gentlemen for a few more hours.”

“Is something wrong?” Anna asked.

“No, Anna, nothing is wrong,” Mother insisted. “But I think it’s best if we declare this party over.”

Anna’s shoulder deflated, then, because if there was something,  _ anything  _ she could do, she wanted to know— and even if she couldn’t help, she wanted to know, still. But the band, with their violins and tubas, were swiftly kicked out, and the palace staff was called in to clean up the remaining food off the tables. She tried to approach Gaspar Sjöberg, but his family was already leaving, and they couldn’t exchange any last words. Her mother ushered her out one more time, and Anna was left with no more choice but to slowly walk upstairs, dragging her feet like a heartbroken child.

Did the absence of the Weseltean Ambassador merit such an interruption? If it did, it was concerning, and very much so, but… well, it probably wasn’t the right moment for her parents to sit her down and give her a quick rundown of the Weseltean ambassador’s previous infractions. She clung to the hope of her parents explaining it to her the following day.

In the meantime, she’d seen the library door through the corner of her eye, and considering the night was still young, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to go find some book to read to quell her increasingly anxious heart. 

The library door creaked open, and Elsa froze in place, like a deer, like a rabbit. She held her breath as her heart raced, and looked around for escape routes. She only breathed out when she saw the familiar silhouette of her younger sister slither in. 

Anna froze, too, upon seeing her standing there. 

“Oh,” Anna mumbled.

Alright, alright. Just… she just needed to take a deep breath and get it over with quickly.

“Hello, Anna,” Elsa said.

“Uh… hello,” Anna replied, offering a small curtsy. “I just wanted to grab a book. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

Anna hesitated for a moment, and then she took quick little steps towards the bookshelves towering over them, pushed against the walls and filled with heavy hard-cover tomes. Anna’s body was visibly tense, and Elsa’s chest broke for the hundredth time that day. Half of her heart wanted to apologize for earlier and wish her a happy birthday, but the other half was terrified and ashamed of the gift she had for her. 

Most importantly, she wanted to thank her, for everything. From the sweet tone of voice she had for ducklings, for foreign guests and for her wicked older sister, to the old, exhausted patience she extended towards her, even though Elsa didn't deserve it.

The box still waited on the table by the window. Anna hadn’t seen it yet. Perhaps it was the time for Elsa to be a decent enough person to deserve her sister's kindness.

“Did you enjoy the party?” She asked, quietly and carefully and fearing Anna’s reaction.

Her younger sister blinked in surprise.

“Uh— yeah! Yeah. It was… it was the most fun I’d had in years,” she confessed. “I spent so long waiting for this day, and now it’s here and…” her words trailed off, without ending or definition. “I danced with a boy,” she continued. “Gaspar Sjöberg, from Sviarighi.”

“Oaken Sjöberg’s nephew?”

“Yep! The one and only. Actually, I think Oaken has at least nine nieces and nephews, but you know what I mean. He's the oldest one.”

That was… not exactly new, because Anna had always loved the idea of boys. Princes and young nobles, knights and warriors from Old Àrnadarl. Elsa supposed her sister would begin to dance with them sooner or later.

But Elsa had always been too self-absorbed into her own misery to worry about Anna’s social development, hadn’t she?

Anna skimmed, to Elsa’s greatest surprise, through the history section. She no longer read about knights and dragons, but about real wars and empires. She picked a book about the expansion of Christianity through the continent during the early Middle Ages. 

“Oh! Hello there,” she mumbled to herself (or was she speaking to the book?). She turned to Elsa. “I think I’ll be heading out now. Goodnight!”

No. No, she’d already disobeyed their parents to find her again, that night, as she disobeyed them to see her smile when they were small. She was moved by the same old love. It was now or never. 

“Wait,” Elsa called, and her heart jumped into her throat and stayed there, pounding heavily and blocking her windpipe.

If Anna was about to head for the door, she didn’t. She instead looked up at her older sister with a confused expression upon her face.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Were you planning to read this one? You know, I can read it later. You can have it, if you want.”

“No.” Elsa shook her head, and her heart broke again. “That’s not it. I only…” She held her hands together, in a way that would make a Queen of Arendelle ashamed. “I meant to apologize for earlier today.” She said, but those small words didn’t make justice to her regret, so she added: “And for everything that came before.”

Anna stared at her. She blinked again. 

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Wait, really? Oh, Elsa, you have nothing to apologize for!”

“No, I do,” Elsa insisted, raising a hand and taking a step back. It was horrifying to her that her sister didn't think she deserved an apology. “I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did.”

Anna averted her eyes. She bounced nervously on the balls of her feet.

“...You were a bit mean at times,” she admitted. She was being generous, and far too forgiving.

“I know,” Elsa said. “After all these years, I know I can never make it up to you. But I was hoping to fix some of the damage I’ve done.”

She turned around to take the box from the table with hands trembling. When she faced Anna again, she saw the surprise, joy, and a little bit of heartbreak in her eyes.

“I know this isn’t the birthday gift you deserve,” Elsa said. “You bought it for me, after all. But would you like to join me for a game?”

Anna’s hand fell over her heart. Her eyes switched between Elsa and the box in her hands.

“I thought it was forbidden,” she said. 

“It’s forbidden for me to leave my room without Mother or Father’s company,” Elsa argued. “But I was hoping to find you here.”

Anna frowned, still staring at the box.

“What do you mean you’re forbidden from…?”

That had been a bad choice of words.

“It was an agreement we made. Don’t worry about it.” Elsa all but begged her. “Are they still downstairs?”

Anna nodded.

“Party’s over,” she explained, with a tired smile. “Are we really playing?”

“Only if you want to.”

Anna didn’t need to be asked twice. The game was quickly laid out on the table: a 9 x 9 square grid of birch wood, with twenty-five pieces: eight unmarked ones, sixteen notched ones, and a King with an eight-pointed star, all of them small squares of darker-colored wood. As they arranged the pieces in the way indicated by the colors of the squares in the board (the wood was lighter where the players were meant to begin), Elsa’s heart picked up speed. This was forbidden. Illegal. Dangerous. She noticed Anna’s breath come out in small clouds. She strained her ear trying to listen for footfalls outside the library’s door, or for voices downstairs, but there wasn’t a sound other than wood brushing against wood and the two sister’s breathes. 

“Are you okay? You’re acting strange.”

Elsa tore her eyes away from the pieces. Oh, how she’d failed, to let her little sister find any semblance of kindness to be odd and unnatural coming from her.

Elsa sighed.

“I realized how unfair it was of me to let you carry all of the weight alone,” she said. “Especially when Mother and Father expect you to.”

Something in Anna's eyes saddened.

"I'm not angry at you," she said, in an impossibly gentle tone. "I just... I just want to know... why."

Elsa glanced down. She chose her words very carefully.

"I assume Father and Mother told you everything," she began. Anna nodded.

"You didn't know how to control your magic."

"I still don't," Elsa corrected her, and hoped Anna was recalling the ice that often crept up her walls. "I'm scared it might hurt people."

"So... you wanted to scare me away? To protect me?" Anna asked, pointing at herself. She was a smart young girl.

"You could put it that way," Elsa said. "I tried to reason with you and make you see it was best if we agreed to keep a distance. I shouldn't have expected to convince you."

Anna's shoulders deflated a little.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I'm always pushing you. I just— I just don't know! I really want to help you, Elsa. But all you ever do is to... You always push me away! And— I mean,  _ that  _ certainly hasn't helped before. And Mother and Father trust me, so..." she tucked a loose strand of beautiful red hair behind her ear. "I want us to do this... together."

Together. Not just both of them in a room. It wasn't simply the two of them having similar goals yet on completely different paths. 

Elsa swallowed. She'd been trying without trying and hurting her little sister in the process. They needed to speak without walls or doors between them.

"I won't ask you for another chance," Elsa said to her younger sister. "But if you still want to offer me one, I promise I won't fight back. I'll listen to you. I'll meet you halfway."

The corner of Anna's mouth twitched adorably.

"That would be nice," she mumbled to herself. "Why the sudden change?"

Elsa inhaled deeply. She wasn't sure of how to put it into words.

"It took me far too long to face how cruel I was being." She tapped the surface of the wooden board with a finger. "I didn't want to feel ashamed, but I did. I'm sorry for threatening to destroy your game."

Anna shrugged, glancing away.

"I mean, it  _ is  _ dangerous," she reminded her. "Maybe you were right."

"I wasn't."

Anna cleared her throat. She straightened her back and picked up one of the unnotched pieces to examine it. 

“You know, back then I actually meant…” She gestured at the box between them. “I didn’t think you’d want to play a Northuldrean game.”

She inhaled sharply. Yes, it  _ was  _ a Northuldrean game, indeed. 

“It can’t be too different from  _ hnefatafl _ ,” Elsa argued. 

“You’ll have to teach me the rules.” 

And so Elsa tried to explain to Anna the rules of  _ hnefatafl _ : the notched pieces would attempt to capture the unnotched, by positioning two at each side of a square, but their real objective was to capture the King, which Elsa assumed should refer to a chief or shaman in Northuldrean tradition. The Shaman could only escape to the edges of the board. He was weaponless and could not capture enemy pieces. They decided she should play the attacker, while Anna should play the defender.

“What if Father comes in?” She asked.

“We will hide it,” Elsa replied. “It’s been a long time since we last played. I doubt he can tell the difference.”

“You could tell,” Anna reminded her. Elsa nodded.

“That’s why we need to be careful.”

Anna nodded. This was… beyond risky. The distant flash of ice at the tips of her fingers and the broken  _ hnefatafl  _ pieces in her hands were still fresh in her memory. This had been the reason behind her first pair of gloves, but they usually helped. Plus, she’d grown numb to the dread of Anna’s visits over the past months. If she was careful, focused on the game and stayed calm… perhaps then she could fulfill her part of the deal. Her  _ problem  _ needed to be put under control sooner or later. Her world was changing and… maybe she needed to change her tactics as well. 

She straightened her back and looked at Anna, who leaned back on the chair.

“You move first,” Anna said.


	3. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I proofread this at 3 am so chances are some errors flew past me. Please, forgive them.

It was the middle of Autumn when famous Czarist architect Pavel Morozov visited Arendelle to study the legacy of Old Àrnadarl in Arendellian architecture. He was particularly interested in the palace, reminiscent of the old stave churches rather than Southern Islander medieval keeps, despite both having been initially built in the early Middle Ages. He found everything about the urban distribution of Arendelle to be very curious, and Anna saw him wander the streets and stare at churches and clock towers on multiple occasions. She would come in and out of both the Vagnmørk Bakery  _ and  _ the Sandsgård Bakery and the old man would still be sitting on a bench by the port, drawing on paper with a piece of charcoal between his bony, wrinkly fingers. She offered him a sandwich once, and he looked up at her with eyes blue as ice before accepting it.

“Thank you,” he said in a perfect Arendellian.

“You’re welcome.”

Anna discreetly tried to take a look at what he sketched, and noticed he was drawing the wooden platforms on which half the village stood, above the water. A few notes in Cyrillic were scattered around the page.

“You’re Pavel Morozov, right? The architect?” She asked. She'd heard of him from her father's mouth. “It’s an honor to have you here.”

“It’s an honor to be welcomed,” Pavel Morozov said with an old smile. “Yours is a beautiful country.”

He looked over at the pier, with its ships, surrounded by the omega-shaped bay and its floating houses. Warm sunlight spilled across the wooden docks and the cobblestones of the streets. The houses cast long, cool, ink-like shadows like fingers stretching over the city.

“I’m happy you like it in here.”

Kai later appeared from inside the Sandsgård Bakery, as he’d decided to stay behind for a moment. He stood under the wooden sign with the Sandsgård’s family symbol— a saber-tooth… salmon— with a  _ woman _ , of all people. Merja Sandsgård. He spoke exuberantly with her while he held more loaves of bread than his arms could carry. Anna quickly said goodbye to the old architect and ran to help Kai bring what he’d bought to his house before heading back to the palace. By the end of the day, Anna’s feet were tired and sore, but she couldn’t feel better. The palace doors opened for her and swallowed her like a mouth, and she marched into the great hall and up the stairs to sprint towards her room, but her feet stopped as she passed in front of a snowflake-patterned door. She hesitated just a second before knocking.

“Elsa? It’s me.”

The sound of quiet shuffling greeted her.

“Come in,” Elsa said from across the door.

Anna grinned and marched in. Elsa sat on her bed, with a small circular embroidery frame in her hands. Anna noted with surprise that her gloves laid on the bedsheets, and Elsa was using her bare hands. 

“You’re not wearing your gloves,” Anna pointed out. “Is everything okay?”

Elsa sighed, staring down at her embroidery frame.

“I wanted to try something,” she admitted, and she showed Anna a completely frosted-over and ruined half-finished embroidered design. It looked like it was supposed to be a flower. “It did not work.”

Anna cringed at her sister’s work. That… was unfortunate.

“I’m sure you’ll improve soon,” she said, taking a step forward. Elsa quickly picked her gloves from their place on the bedsheets and slid them on.

“I hope so.” She stood up and walked over to the window. “But enough about me. Tell me, Anna, how was your day?”

“Oh, it was great!” Anna said, flopping down on Elsa’s bed. “I think Kai is in love with Merja Sandsgård— you know, the Sandsgård boss’ daughter. So I made up an excuse to go to the bakery, and then I talked to Pavel Morozov in the port.”

“The architect?” Elsa asked, and Anna could practically see her ears perking up. She nodded, and the corner of Elsa’s mouth twitched. “I have a few books of his.” She commented. “He’s a genius.”

“He seemed nice,” Anna said. “I hope he likes the sandwich I gave him.”

Elsa breathed in. She gave Anna a long, gentle look, one that made Anna feel uncommonly nervous, uncommonly warm. So she slid off the bed and began to pace around the wide room. She eventually settled in front of the fireplace, which never went out these days. 

“He designed the Czar’s new palace thirty years ago,” Elsa continued, her head snapping forward, staring out the window. “I heard he’ll be giving a seminar in the Faculty of Architecture later this month.”

“Shall I let him know he has a secret admirer?” Anna asked. Elsa quietly chuckled and shook her head.

“It’s not really a secret,” she said, “Look at my bookcase.”

Anna glanced over at the bookcase and noticed half of the books were signed under Pavel Morozov’s name.

“Oh,” she mouthed. Elsa laughed again. 

“Oh indeed,” she said. “It’s an honor to be visited by him. Father said he’ll come to the palace soon.”

“He says it’s an honor to be welcomed into Arendelle,” Anna mentioned. An idea came to her. “Wait, would you like to meet him?”

Elsa shook her head.

“I can’t,” she reminded her. “But if you do speak to him again, please let him know his work is greatly appreciated here.”

“I will,” Anna nodded, with a lot of determination. And after a moment, she added. “Elsa, you’re doing  _ great _ . I’m sure you’ll be fine if you were…just... present during dinner.”

Elsa inhaled sharply.

“Anna, look at that thing,” she gestured at the frozen embroidery frame. “I’m not ready to go out just yet.”

“You weren’t wearing gloves,” Anna rationalized. “But you would if we did this. And I’d stay with you at all times! I won’t let you out my sight,” she promised, with a very serious expression on her face that only made Elsa smile in endearment.

Whenever Elsa smiled at her like that, it did something weird to Anna's stomach. It was like... a tingling feeling that came to her whenever she became aware of her fact her big sister loved her. Loved her lots.

“I’ll think about it,” Elsa finally said, and a wide toothy grin took over Anna's face. 

It wasn't like when they were little, not really, but she was beginning to feel like she was actually getting her sister back. Having Elsa with her made her feel like the happiest person in the world.

“I’ll ask Father!” Anna suggested. “He’ll know what to do.”

Something in Elsa’s expression shifted— an unsure hint of worry behind her eyes. But she nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s… let him decide.”

Father was hesitant, but Anna insisted, and she even kidnapped a few of Elsa’s books to demonstrate just how much her sister would appreciate meeting the architect. It was only after Mother’s intervention— “how is she supposed to feel secure in the outside world when we send the message that  _ dinner  _ with a single stranger is too high a risk?”— that Father eventually budged. He welcomed Pavel Morozov personally when he came, guiding him through the palace and introducing him to the Arendellian Royal Architects. Anna went to greet him at one point, and he laughed, shook her hand, and said:

“It is good to see you again, your Highness.”

“Did you two know each other?” Father asked with a raised eyebrow.

“She gave me one of the best sandwiches I’ve ever had,” Pavel Morozov said. “Tell me, your Highness, which bakery would you recommend I visit first?”

Anna only accompanied him for a brief hour, but her schedule interrupted them, and she had to leave for her economy lessons. She sat with her tutor and read with him, and while she usually enjoyed these classes, on this occasion she couldn’t stop looking forward to dinner with Elsa and the architect. Towards the end of the lesson, as her tutor packed up his things, Mother knocked on the library door.

“Anna,” she called, as the tutor hurried out of the room. “May I speak to you?"

"Uh— sure," Anna said. "Is everything alright, Mother?"

Mother breathed in.

"Your father and I won’t be present during dinner today.”

Anna’s stomach sank.

“Why not? Is something wrong?”

“No, Anna. There’s nothing you should worry about. But I’ll have to ask you to escort your sister out of her room today.” Mother continued. “This is something you’ve never done before, so I need you to give you a few instructions.” She took a seat on the couch before the fireplace. Anna waited patiently, and she nodded, indicating Mother she could begin. “It’s important that you don’t leave your sister alone at any point of the evening, until you return her to her bechambers. You’re a wonderful conversator, so I’m certain you’ll do a great job at avoiding upsetting or distressing topics.” She breathed in deeply. “Don’t let her get upset. I can’t bear to think what would happen if she did. But don’t let her get too excited, either.”

Anna frowned.

“But… she’s been dreaming of this for a very long time,” she argued. “I mean, I’d be excited, too.”

“I know, I know,” Mother said, raising a hand to hush Anna’s words. “But Elsa isn’t like you, Anna. She isn’t like any of us. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

It didn’t sit right with her, not at all, because Elsa  _ was  _ just like them— she had feelings, and doubts, second thoughts, insecurities, and an unbreakable sense of duty. 

But— she thought, surprising herself —, so did the Northuldra from the arctic. Didn’t the Northuldra have a duty to each other, and feelings of irrational (irrational?) anger and hatred towards the country that had aided them? 

_ Who attacks people who give them gifts? _

And the Northuldra were, in the end, still dangerous. Weren't they?

It was like a tense string— was Elsa anything alike the Northuldra? And would that be such a terrible thing? Yes. No. Anna didn’t have the answer. 

In the end, they still needed a wall of Mist to keep them away. 

Anna nodded in obedience to her mother’s command. She’d escort Elsa into this adventure.

It was clear to everyone that Elsa was beyond excited. She was ecstatic, with a wide smile upon her face and a glint in her eyes that Anna had never seen before. Her gloved hands shook, but not out of fear, and when she offered Pavel Morozov a polite curtsy, she did so flawlessly, with complete control over her movements.

“It’s an honor,” she said.

“The honor is mine, your Highness,” he replied.

They ate venison with smoked salmon, boiled potatoes, sour-sweet lingonberry jam and elderflower flavored honey-wine. Anna served herself a bit because Elsa didn’t tell her not to, and she didn’t get any disapproving glares. She regretted it later, because it tasted awful, but at least the moose was delicious. Some of the best moose she’d ever had.

Next to her, Elsa barely ate at all. She was fixated on her conversation with Pavel Morozov, completely unable to wipe that dumb grin off her face. 

“What has brought you to Arendelle?” She asked. 

“I’ve always been fascinated by the architecture of Old Àrnadarl,” he explained, “and how it has survived to the nineteenth century. A thousand years, and your country still builds new stave churches and longhouses in rural areas. It’s like a window to the past. This is what I came to study.”

The following exchange was too full of architectural terms for Anna to understand— something about weight, rock tension and volume—, but she still took comfort in how at ease Elsa seemed to be, because her own heart wouldn’t stop pounding and trying to break out of her ribcage. They were alone with this strange man, and it was her responsibility— not Mother’s or Father’s— to make sure things stayed under control. She could  _ not  _ fail. And seeing how things were going, she’d consider her enterprise a success, yes, but that didn't mean she could let her guard down.

“There’s something I find strange, if I may mention,” Pavel Morozov said at one point. “It’s about the city’s defenses. The wall is open for enemy ships to enter the bay, and it parts right from the castle’s walls. This means that half the palace is completely exposed.” He looked at Elsa. “I was hoping a knowledgeable Arendellian student such as yourself would be able to tell me something about it.”

“Oh, I’m not a student,” Elsa said, bashfully. “But it’s true the city of Arendelle wasn’t built with it’s defense in mind. Old Àrnadarl was, but when King Aren expanded the border further north, his only enemies were nomadic tribes north of the Black Mountains.”

Pavel Morozov chuckled.

“Was Old Àrnadarl not a tribal civilization?” He asked, and then shook his head. “Forgive me. Please, continue.”

Elsa’s lips pressed into a tight line. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know much more. Arendelle is a seaport city. It wouldn’t be wise to obstruct our main source of foreign currency.”

“Actually…” Anna intervened, raising a timid hand. “When King Aren chased the Northuldra into the Arctic, he had very good relations with Weselton and the Southern Isles. Arendelle was supposed to be just a port to welcome the reinforcement from the south. That’s why there’s a wall on land, so the Northuldra couldn’t breach in— they didn’t have boats, you know? Then Old Àrnadarl fell, and, you know, we needed a new capital."

Pavel Morozov nodded thoughtfully, his eyes glinting with secret excitement.

“I see,” he said. “Princess Anna, do you enjoy studying your country’s history?”

Anna shrugged. Did she? She hadn't noticed.

“I suppose I read some books.”

“Is there anything you could tell me about Arendelle’s current relations to the Grand Duchy of Weselton?”

Anna blinked. That was strange.

“Uh, sure,” she said. “Weselton used to be part of Old Àrnadarl, but it seceded in the early middle ages. They buy our meat and textiles, and we buy their metal and timber. And flour. Lots of flour. Barely anything grows here. Anyway, we’re certainly  _ not  _ the Southern Isles— we don’t have trains or steam machines yet, but at least we have our port. Weselton doesn’t, that’s why we trade by waterway.”

“They’re Arendelle’s closest trade partners, are they not?” Pavel Morozov asked.

“I suppose so, yeah,” Anna agreed. “Why?”

Pavel Morozov looked at the smoked fish on his plate.

“Simple curiosity,” he said. “Thank you for welcoming me. This has been a wonderful dinner.”

Pavel Morozov left the palace shortly after. As soon as they were alone, Elsa sighed, with a hand over her heart, and leaned on a hallway wall.

“How are you feeling?” Anna asked. Elsa just smiled.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe it,” Elsa replied. “This is the first time I’ve spoken to anyone from outside in ten years.”

Oh. Right.

“Oh,” Anna said rather dumbly. Because Elsa didn’t have the privilege of visiting the village any time she fancied. “Was it like you imagined?”

“It was better,” Elsa said. They leisurely strolled down the dark, dark corridor. “I worried he would be more arrogant. He could be, considering his work, and he’d be justified. But he was really polite. And…” She held her hands together. “I thought it would be harder to keep things under control.”

“It wasn’?” Anna asked.

“No,” Elsa shook her head. “I feel… stronger,” she explained. “I didn’t feel scared.”

Anna grinned widely.

“Oh, Elsa, that’s great!” She exclaimed, and nearly tripped over her feet. It really  _ was  _ dark. Did no one open the curtains anymore? “I knew Mother was wrong when she said you shouldn’t get excited.”

Elsa frowned.

“She said what?” 

“Yeah, can you believe it?” Anna said as she approached a hallway window. “If fear makes it go all crazy, then how come excitement does the same? Shouldn’t it have the opposite effect?” She grabbed fistfuls of dark velvet curtains. “Jeez, why is it so dark?”

She pulled the curtains aside and was instantly blinded by a white light. The temperature dropped three or four degrees. She blinked, opened her eyes, and finally distinguished the sharp snowflakes raining down from dark clouds, the wind lashing at the trees and at the ships down on the port, and the icy stalactites hanging like a wolf’s fangs from the edge of the roof. 

Her breath left her in a shaky puff.

“Oh, Elsa…”

“Anna!” A deep voice echoed in the hallway, followed by heavy footfalls. Anna turned her head, and saw Father approach them quickly, followed by two ministers. 

“Father?” She mouthed. “Father, this is  _ not  _ what it looks like.”

_ It wasn't Elsa's fault. It wasn't supposed to... _

Father came to a stop, standing a few feet away from his daughters.

“Your presence is required in the council room,” he said politely. “Now. And Elsa,” he turned to his eldest. “Go back to your room.”

Elsa stood still, paler than usual and eyes wide open. She performed a quick curtsy and scurried away with rigid motions, not before giving Anna an apologetic look.

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

“Anna, come with me.”

He guided her down the corridor, and she tried to crank her neck and look at her sister but all she could catch was the hem of her dress as she turned around a corner. Her heart and mind began to race. Elsa had been  _ fine _ . She hadn’t even gotten  _ that  _ excited! And the council? Oh, Anna didn’t like the council being brought into this at all.

But the doors closed behind her anyway, and she found herself standing by the end of the long table, with six ministers sitting on each side. 

Thirteen adult men, only some of which Anna knew, observed her with curious, indignant eyes. Most of them wore fur or  _ qiviut  _ coats, which they'd clearly thrown on as soon as the first snow fell, judging by the mismatched buttons and loose scarves hanging around their necks. At the end of the room, past the long, long table, a big burning hearth sat. A couple of maids tended to the firewood. To Anna's right, tall windowpanes offered a clearer view of the white city below. Each leaf on every tree had frosted over. Each stone in the cobblestone streets became cold and slippery. From the palace, Anna could see not a soul wandering the town.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect,” the Minister of Trade began, “what is this?”

“This is a storm of my daughter’s doing,” Father explained, pulling back the seat at the head of the table. Anna tore her gaze away from the window. “I was hoping my youngest could explain the situation to us.”

“Wait, what?” Anna blurted. Two dozens of eyes fixed on her, and she suddenly felt so much smaller.

They all knew?

Father made a gesture, and it took Anna a moment to understand he wanted her to take a seat. She did as he commanded, and the wooden throne felt way too big for such a small body. It pretty much swallowed her, and a murder of ministers leaned forward like vultures, listening to her every word.

“Uh…” she clumsily began. “This isn’t Elsa’s doing,” she explained. How come these people knew about Elsa’s magic? They’d known before Anna did? “None of this is her fault. She wasn’t… she…” She cranked up her neck to look at Father, who hadn’t sat at the table. “She was  _ happy  _ today. She wasn’t scared! She even told me she felt stronger!”

“Stronger?” Father asked. “Stronger how?”

“Like… I don’t know!” Anna gesticulated with her hands. “I assumed she meant she could control her magic more easily. Like she had a better grip on it.”

“Your Highness,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs intervened. “If I may ask, are you implying Princess Elsa has done this on purpose?”

“What? No!” Anna exclaimed. “Elsa didn’t do  _ anything _ . This…” she looked out the windowpanes, at the storm growing outside. White flakes fluttered and blurred their view of the city. “This is... It's probably just a normal storm. Elsa didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Anna,” Father squeezed her shoulder. “Joy brings out her powers just as strongly as fear does. I did worry Pavel Morozov’s visit may be too much for her.”

“It wasn’t!” Anna insisted. “Father, Elsa was  _ fine _ . And she said she felt in control. She… this isn’t…” She gave him a pleading look. “Please. Believe me.”

Father took a deep breath. He looked over at one of the ministers.

“Minister Mårten Gremmertsen,” he said. “You had some questions regarding Princess Anna’s approach to the matter at hand.”

“Yes,” Minister Gremmertsen said. He turned to Anna. “Your Highness, may I ask whether the process through which you aid Princess Elsa is one of punishment or reward?”

Anna's eyes widened with horror. She shook her head.

“Punishment and reward? What do you mean? I don’t…” She glanced at her father, but he did not look at her. “That’s… That’s not what we do at all. I’m not  _ training  _ her.”

“What is the process like?”

“Most days we just… talk. And we play tabletop games,” she explained. “Her powers come out when she’s distressed, so I thought… maybe I could help her be more at ease with people?”

“Are her powers a response to stress, then?”

Anna nodded.

“Yes, sir. I believe they’re a defense mechanism. Like… porcupine quills.”

In all honesty, she was putting her thoughts into words on the fly, but they weren't untrue at all.

Minister Gremmertsen nodded, then looked at Father.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “We must reconsider the possibility of supplying Princess Elsa with the proper medical help.”

A string of worry curled in Anna's gut.

"W-what do you mean? I'm helping her."

"Go on," Father said, effectively cutting her off. Minister Gremmertsen cleared his throat.

"If we are to be concerned about Princess Elsa's mental instability in order to care for the country's wellbeing, we must begin by formulating a diagnosis." He continued. Oh, Anna didn't like where this was going. "The first step would be to contact an alienist and proceed with the appropriate treatment."

"I am not putting my daughter in an asylum," Father argued.

"There would be no need," Gremmertsen argued. "There would be no need. Princess Elsa would be allowed to remain in her bedchamber during the whole treatment."

"I hope you don’t suggest we supply drugs of any kind to the Princess, Minister," Father said, in a severe tone.

Anna's stomach dropped.

“What?” She rose to her feet, kicking back the chair. “You can’t…”

“Anna,” Father warned her. The tone he used sent a shiver down her spine. So she swallowed back her anger and sat back down on the chair.

“I apologize. I meant…” she wrung her fingers together. “Elsa isn’t sick. She's not... mentally unstable, or insane, or hysteric, or anything. It... It wouldn’t be right to drug her up.”

“Your Highness,” Minister Gremmertsen said in a condescending tone. “If you would allow me to finish, I would explain that such a process would be overseen at all times by a medical professional with the explicit purpose of aiding Princess Elsa’s in regulating her humors. You must understand that Princess Elsa’s magic and emotions affect all of us, whether that’s a happy truth or not. And as His Majesty has told us innumerable times, her power will only grow. It’s imperative that we get the situation under control. Contacting an alienist is the most sensible course of action.”

“No,” Anna insisted, vigorously shaking her head. “No, no, you can’t do that to Elsa. It’s not just about the treatment. There's nothing wrong with her. She’s… She isn’t an animal! We can’t tell her to stop being happy or… or sad or scared. That isn’t the solution.”

“What would you say the solution is, then, Anna?” Father asked. “Has Elsa made any progress lately?”

“She has, in fact,” Anna said, rather proudly. “She’s doing so much better, Father. She’s fine being with me, even though she was so scared of hurting me at first. And she was fine with the architect, too! Just… please, give me more time.” She glanced at the Council, mouth hanging ajar in search for words, before her eyes returned to the King. “I promise you, Father, I’ll do  _ anything  _ to help her. I won’t let things get out of control.”

“People could die, your Highness,” the Minister of Trade intervened. “What happens the day the fjord freezes and interrupts marine traffic? What happens when the cold kills the crops?”

“Well… we’ll figure things out,” Anna poorly argued.

“I’m just trying to put things into perspective, your Highness,” he insisted. “Minister Gremmertsen is right: what happens with Princess Elsa affects us all. She has the whole country in her hands. I’m genuinely scared of what could happen.”

Anna’s heart sank a little. 

“I believe that is true for all of us,” the Minister of Justice agreed. 

“It is,” said the King. He looked at Anna. “Do you have a plan to suggest, Princess Anna?”

Anna opened and closed her mouth.

“I…” she mumbled. “I just need more time.”

Father nodded.

“Then go fix this. Now.” He said. “We’ll arrange a new meeting in two weeks. By then, I expect you to have a concrete course of action. You are dismissed.”

Anna still had so many angry words building up inside of her, but she had no choice but to exhale, get up from the chair, and slide through the half-open door. It closed behind her, and then leaned against the hardwood, letting her head hang down.

Oh, Elsa. What would she do now?

She needed to… speak to a meteorologist. Yes. Perhaps she could convince Father to hire one from the best university in the continent, so she could prove Elsa’s innocence every time an accusation came up. And… And she needed to speak to Elsa, too. Oh, she must be so worried.

She took a deep breath, but as she exhaled, she heard words across the wood.

“...Your Majesty…”

“I will not hear another word,” Father warned. His voice was deep and hard. 

“Your Majesty, I implore you to reconsider. I speak in the name of the council when I say King Runeard would…”

“My father is no longer King.”

“Your father kept us safe from threats like this one for many years,” a Minister pleaded. “We all know what he would have done.”

“Are you suggesting I dispose of my own daughter?” A second of silence. “No. We have more options. I tolerated these treacherous suggestions before, but from now on, anyone who mentions them will be conspiring against the life of the Crown Princess. Do I make myself clear?”

Anna pulled back from the door. Her heart pounded blood into her ears and numbed her from all sound from the outside.

She scrambled away. She needed to find her sister.

The following minutes of Elsa's life were overflowed with worry, which increased with every glance at the white-cold window. She pulled the curtains shut— out of sight, out of mind—, so she could quell her trembling heart and stop the frost that grew around her feet every time she stepped on the floorboards.

For once, she smiled upon hearing a familiar knock on her door.

“Come in,” she said, already knowing who waited outside. Anna would bring answers and resolutions. She'd clear things up. 

But all hope for peace of mind vanished when she noticed the expression upon her little sister's face. Anna gripped the doorknob tightly enough for her knuckles to turn white, and her eyes fixed on the tips of her shoes. Her breathing was heavy.

“Anna, what’s wrong?” Elsa asked, without wasting a second. The door clicked shut behind Anna, but the young princess stood right there.

“It’s nothing,” Anna lied. “Do you know where I can find a meteorologist?”

Elsa observed her for a moment. She then sat on her bed and patted the comforter, inviting Anna to do the same.

“I believe there are several working in the Royal Navy,” Elsa said. “What did Father say?"

Anna swallowed quietly, as if she feared making a sound.

“Elsa…” She began. “This storm isn’t yours, right?”

Any semblance of tranquility disappeared. Her heart leaped, in a less than pleasing way.

“I’ve been trying to stay calm ever since I noticed it,” she explained. “It should be stopping. I don’t know why it doesn’t. I…” She glanced out the window, where the snow accumulated on the roofs of houses and on the cobblestone streets of Arendelle.

Anna came to sit next to her, putting still enough distance between the two.

“I don’t think it’s yours,” she said. Elsa’s eyes widened a bit. “It  _ has  _ to be a normal storm. I’ll find a meteorologist. I’ll prove Father wrong. I promise.”

Elsa found no words to speak. Her eyes switched from Anna to the window, and back to Anna again. The prospect of a normal, natural storm that had nothing to do with her shouldn’t surprise her— it was  _ dumb  _ to be surprised— but it did. 

Anna didn’t think it was her fault.

Although, to be fair, Anna always considered her blameless, and she’d been wrong in the past. 

“Anna,” Elsa said, conjuring up the patience she would need. “What happened in the Council Room?”

Anna shook her head, averting her gaze.

“I… well…” she brought her hands together. In a small voice, she said: “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

Elsa’s eyes narrowed.

“You think I might get hurt?” 

“If I don’t do my job… maybe?” Anna said. She looked up. “W-what if I can’t prove the storm isn’t yours? What if I can’t prove I’m helping you? What if I’m  _ not  _ helping you at all?” She rambled, eyes anxiously shifting all over the place. “They…” she hunched over herself a little bit. “They... kinda said they wanted to drug you up.”

Elsa observed her sister.

"Drug me up?" She repeated.

“To regulate your emotions.” Anna explained. “I don’t know what that means. But Father said… he said your happiness is just as bad as your fear, but that isn’t true, Elsa.” Her hands reached forward, perhaps to grab Elsa’s, but they stopped mid-air and came to rest on Anna’s own lap instead. “Your happiness is something  _ so beautiful _ . You deserve to be happy. You spent your whole life being unhappy just so that the people around you— so that  _ I _ would be safe. You’re the most selfless person I know. It’s just… it’s so  _ unfair _ .”

Elsa stared at her little sister as she opened herself up to her, and her heart broke with every word. Because Anna was wrong, she wasn’t selfless, and because medication wasn’t a horrifying idea to her, because she still hadn’t earned her happiness… yet Anna looked so distressed at the mere prospect of Elsa doing anything difficult or painful even if it was the right thing.

Elsa realized, with yet another heartbreak, that her sister truly did love her. She loved her more than Elsa deserved.

She’d always known this, but she was still baffled by every kind gesture, every demonstration of affection that Elsa had never earned nor reciprocated.

“Anna…” she began. She wanted to reassure her that medication wouldn’t be harmful as long as it was administered by a good medical practitioner, that she was alright with sacrificing a part of her heart—  _ brain, psyche _ — for her family and country— for her, for Anna, because parts of her happiness were also dangerous to Anna—, but none of those answers would actually bring her sister any comfort. No, Anna wanted to be her knight. She wanted to save her from everything Elsa had already resigned herself to. So instead of saying everything she wanted to say, she told her: “I’ll speak to Father about it tonight. He won’t give me anything without my consent.”

“But what if he doesn’t believe you?” Anna argued. “I mean, they didn’t believe  _ me _ . They’re not… they’re not  _ thinking  _ like us, Elsa. One of them asked if my training methods were through punishment and reward!”

“Wait. Training methods?”

“I know, right? I told them that wasn’t at all what we did. But they want me to present a concrete plan in two weeks for you. Otherwise, they’ll start discussing the alienist thing. For real this time.”

A plan? Anna? No, no, she wasn’t a minister or an ambassador. She was only sixteen. 

“Anna, listen,” Elsa said, raising her hands. “If we need to figure out a plan, we will. But you aren’t my guardian. You don’t speak for me.”

Anna stared at her.

“But… I do,” she argued. “I mean, I’m not your guardian, but I  _ am  _ responsible for you. That’s kind of my job.” She raised her hands defensively. “And I wouldn’t want any other job! I like helping you. I love being with you. I didn’t like it that much before, because you were a bit closed-off, but you’re so much nicer now! And I’m really happy about that. Looking after you isn’t a problem for me.”

“Anna,” Elsa interrupted her. “You shouldn’t be looking after me. You should go out to enjoy the city and make friends out there. You’re not bound here anymore.”

“But  _ you  _ are,” Anna countered. “And like I said, I’m staying with you. Mother and Father asked for my help, and we’ve done a lot of progress so far— I mean, look at us!” She gestured at the space between the two of them. “We’re talking in the same room! That wouldn’t have happened a year ago.”

“No,” Elsa agreed. “It wouldn’t.”

“So, you know,” Anna shrugged. “I’m not leaving.”

“Anna, you're my  _ sister _ ,” Elsa insisted. “Not my parent. You shouldn’t have to do this.” She breathed out. “You  _ shouldn’t  _ do this.”

“But I want to help!”

“You already are.” Elsa said. “But you shouldn’t be in this position.”

And then, unexpectedly, Anna’s shoulders shook. 

“I…” She stammered. Shook her head. Elsa had to resist the urge to inch closer— to hold her, maybe? Her fingers twitched. She gripped the comforter. 

“Anna?”

“I can’t fail, Elsa…” She whimpered, with a weak string of voice. Elsa smiled sadly.

“You’re right,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do that would constitute failure.”

Anna blinked and, after a moment of silence, her hands slowly came up to cover her face. 

“But I—I can’t fail you…” She mumbled, and Elsa's heart shattered into a million tiny splinters.

“You won’t!” She reassured her, keeping her voice low as to not make her flinch. She clenched her fists. Brought her hands up. Let them fall back on her lap. The distance was suddenly unbearable. A desperate need to hold Anna in her arms overcame her.

She wasn’t ready. She was not ready, yet.

Anna wasn’t ready to take up the mantle of responsibility, either. And no matter where Elsa approached it, she found herself at a dead-end— because one could argue Elsa was dangerous, but Anna, too, was handling a far too delicate matter for her childish, clumsy hands. Because she had to be the older sister and put her foot down, yet all she could truly offer Anna was affection, and she denied her even that. 

Maybe this was simply her part of the deal.

She brought a trembling hand up, and, for the first time in many, many years, the fabric of her glove grazed the fabric of someone else’s clothes. She gently kneaded Anna’s shoulder, and it must have been too cold— too cold for Anna—, because her head jerked up all of a sudden, and Elsa’s hand instinctively pulled back, away from Anna’s fragile human body.

Yet Anna didn’t look frightened— just...  _ small _ . Timid tears ran down her cheeks and pooled at her eyes, and her quivering lower lip was trapped under the vicious grip of her teeth. Her breath came out in puffs of clouds, but she still—  _ still—  _ opened her arms just a fraction and pleadingly looked up at her big sister.

Elsa held her breath. The frost could not cross the fabric of her gloves, and this was the only reason why she dared to bring her arms forward and around Anna’s shoulders. Her heart stopped— spiked up— fluttered and pounded faster than ever before. Anna’s grip around her waist was vice-like, and Elsa was sure her brain must have shut down more than once, because the tight grip was too much—  _ almost  _ too much— and the way Anna curled into her embrace, almost as if hiding— the way she  _ tucked her head under her chin _ — sent a strange, fluttering warmth into her stomach. Her brain was overwhelmed by the sound of Anna’s broken breathing against her clothes and the warm,  _ warm  _ feeling of her body against hers. 

Elsa pulled her closer. Tighter. And her ice? Her cold? It wasn’t absent. In fact, it throbbed vigorously underneath her skin, completely under her command. 

“Thank you,” Anna whispered into her collarbone. Elsa tightened her grip for a moment before loosening, trying to convey all of her love for Anna into the gesture.

“I’ll speak with Father,” she promised. “I don’t want you to worry.”

Anna sniffled and slowly pulled away to wipe her nose with her sleeve. Only because it was her, it was weirdly adorable.

“I’m good at worrying about you,” she joked, earning an endeared smile from her big sister.

“I think that’s my job,” Elsa commented.

“Nope! This is my royal job,” Anna insisted. “Official Royal Worrier. Assigned by His Royal Majesty.”

“I believe he should hire someone who’s of age,” Elsa said, and before Anna could reply, she slowly rose from her bed and approached her desk, on the other end of the room.

“I think I know something that might make you feel better,” she said, and Anna’s face illuminated at her words as she slowly opened the bottom drawer.

“Oh! Can I play unnotched?”

“Again? I don’t understand why you continue to put yourself at a disadvantage.”

“Well, first off, it’s only a disadvantage if you don’t know how to play.”

They sat on the floor, with the  _ tablut  _ board in the middle of the carpet and each piece in its place. Eight unnotched pieces protecting the King— Shaman—, with the sixteen notched pieces surrounding them from all edges of the board. In the past weeks, Elsa had come to see them as Northuldra warriors and Arendellian soldiers. The unnotched pieces represented the clear, white snow of the Arctic and the notched pieces represented the sharp metal of Arendellian swords.

Elsa moved first.

Her soldier advanced into enemy territory. A Northuldrean warrior jumped in defense of the North, but another soldier caught him from behind, and right after slaughtering the nomad, two others jumped from the darkness— an expected move. Sometimes, a small sacrifice was needed in order to grant your compatriots the opportunity to slip behind the fray and capture the warrior closest to the Shaman— and the Shaman could not fight, he needed two of his warriors to defend him as he scurried away from the battle. He called upon two partners, but they hadn’t foreseen the ambush. The Shaman tried to back away, but the path was blocked by a single Arendellian soldier. He sought escape through another route— blocked as well. His warriors fell like flies, like shards of useless burning wood. One soldier stood right before him. The other approached from behind, and they both unsheathed their swords and struck him when he expected it less.

“Oh, come on!” Anna protested. “I was so close!”

Elsa bit back a grin. Oh, she should probably be nice to her sister and let her win, but… it was undeniable she was cute when she got like this.

“Take a moment to observe the board before making your move,” Elsa advice her.

“I  _ am  _ looking!”

“Well, look harder.”

Anna pouted adorably and glared at Elsa.

“Come on! Can we play again?”

Elsa gave her a playful smirk, one that made Anna glare and pout with even more petulance than before, but she gave in, of course. She’d love to crush her little sister’s hopes and dreams all over again.

So they rearranged the pieces. This time, the Arendellian army marched in a clasp formation, attacking from both East and West simultaneously. The Northuldrean warriors were ambushed in between two high cliffs, from which the soldiers fired their weapons— rifles and crossbows against sticks and stones. The Shaman ran quickly. Her entourage covered for her as she took refuge from the crossfire— she could not fight, for her hands were busy. Two Northuldrean men caught the soldiers on the eastern flank while they weren’t watching (distractions were humiliating. They couldn’t happen again), and soon they were captured. Meanwhile, the Shaman approached the edge of the shore, the edge of the continent, but her feet halted when she came face to face with an Arendellian soldier dressed in metal armor. She had no companions by her side. She could not fight— she had a little girl in her arms. The Shaman— a mother— was cornered but the soldier could not take her on his own, so he continued to block her way as she tried to reach the ocean. He tricked her into running too close to one of his compatriots and before she could see him, the sword cut through the air like a scream, and the game was declared over.

“You cheated.”

“I did not.”

“Of course you did! There’s no way you won that quickly on your own.”

Elsa shook her head with a smile.

“You don’t pay attention to the board, Anna,” she said. “Would you like to try again?”

Anna was nodding vigorously before Elsa even got the chance to finish.

“I am  _ so _ playing Arendellian this time.” She declared. Elsa opened her mouth to make a remark, but in that moment, three heavy knocks shook the wooden door.

She exchanged a look with her sister. Anna’s eyes were wide.

“One second!” Elsa called, as Anna shoved the  _ tablut  _ board, along with all of its pieces, beneath Elsa’s bed.

Anna sat obediently on the covers to receive their guest— only a maid calling Anna for the evening meal—, and despite her sister's calm exterior, Elsa could see in the way her eyes drifted over everything but the door that she’s had a big scare.

“Can Elsa come with me?” Anna innocently asked, in a way that made emotion seize Elsa's heart. “I promise this storm isn’t hers. She’s not going to freeze anything, I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” the maid in question said, avoiding Anna’s gaze. “But King Agnarr has given the express order that Princess Elsa shall not attend.”

Anna’s shoulders visibly deflated, even though Elsa didn’t feel hurt or insulted in the slightest. This was simply the way things were and the way they should remain.

“Could you please bring me something here instead?” She requested, mostly so that Anna didn’t worry about whether or not she’d eaten. 

The maid offered a small curtsy.

“Your Highness,” she said, and subsequently dashed away without making a sound, as if the soles of her feet floated over the wooden floors. 

Anna looked at her sister with a pained expression upon her face.

“Go,” Elsa encouraged her. “Don’t let your food get cold.”

Anna opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, but she eventually shut it and, with one final look, she, too, strolled away, and Elsa watched her from her doorway, as she could not leave, anchored to the shore as Anna rowed into the sea until she was out of sight.

Elsa sighed and closed the door. They’d been very lucky the maid hadn’t seen the  _ tablut  _ pieces Anna had failed to hide, so she better store them back in the drawer, ready for the rematch later that night.

The days after were warm and sunny, and Anna spent the following week speaking to navy officials, old whalers from the port, and professors from the Faculty of Natural Sciences, but none of them were able to confirm whether or not the storm had been natural or not. They either used a complicated terminology she struggled to understand, ignored her, or gave her contradictory interpretations. A sailor blamed the Northuldra sorcerers, who had suddenly released the four knots of the four winds to torment Arendelle, while another claimed to have seen the clouds forming ever since the week before, when Anna remembered the sky to be blue and clear. Those who gave her serious answers— sudden drops of atmospheric pressure, an unexpected incoming of northern wind— laughed at little Princess Anna when she dared to ask, like a fairy tale princess, if the storm could have been caused by anything such as magic. None of them seemed like the kind of people she could regularly contact for answers.

By the end of the week, when she began to feel like all hope was lost, she sat on a trunk near the muskox farms up the hill, basket full of Vagnmørk-made pastries under her arm, to observe the palace, where Elsa waited for her like a princess locked up in a tower. Anna didn’t want to think about the consequences that would follow her failure. 

In that exact moment, her guardian angel descended from the skies to save her, but he came in the form of a smelly ice harvester with reindeer hairs on his clothes.

“Now, stay still, Sven,” she heard him say from only a few feet away, “there won't be any work if I don't fix this.”

The reindeer in question— Sven— bucked and grunted despite his friend’s insistence. When Anna looked up, she found him trying to reach her (or, more specifically, her basket), with only a worn-out harness holding him back to a wagon with no wheels.

Without thinking much, Anna rose to her feet to approach them.

“I think he wants some of this,” she said, and she took a loaf of warm bread from her basket to show the animal, who stuck his tongue out and wagged his tail. He tried to take a bite, but his companion pulled him back by the harness.

“Sven, no!” He scolded him, and then looked up at Anna. “Don’t spoil him. And save that bread for yourself. It looks expensive.”

“Oh, but I’d love to share some with him,” Anna argued. She lifted a hand to scratch Sven behind his ear. “Oh, you're a good boy, aren't you?”

Sven panted and twisted his head to get better scratches riiiiiight on the spot he wanted, and Anna laughed, because she hardly saw any stray dog on the streets and the muskoxen never seemed to appreciate her scratches, but she’d always wanted a pet, and so far she found this reindeer adorable.

“Alright,” said his human. “Give him some. But not too much.“

“Did you hear that, Sven?” Anna cooed, holding the reindeer’s face. Sven panted like a dog and nodded vigorously. “Here you go.”

She broke the bread loaf into pieces and began to feed Sven small handfuls one by one. Happy with his new meal, the reindeer stopped struggling to enjoy the snacks and the scratches Anna offered, while his human fixed the harness around his body. It was made of old, wide, colorless leather straps, some of which were held together by a string about to snap. Anna winced at its appearance. Following the shafts that connected it to the wagon, her eyes fell on the heavy ice blocks piled up behind the seat at the front, alongside multiple objects such as pickaxes, ropes, knives, axes, small barrels and bedrolls. Some lied by the ice blocks while others hung instead from the sides of the vehicle. 

“Are you a merchant?” Anna asked, curiously eyeing the wagon. 

“No. I harvest ice,” the young man grumbled. Oh, how old was he? He didn’t seem much older than Elsa.

“So, you  _ are  _ a merchant. That’s… really cool.”

“Thanks.”

He unbuckled the straps around Sven’s body, but he didn't seem able to pull them away. Only then Anna noticed how tangled up they were.

“Do you need help with that?”

“Keep Sven distracted,” he said. “And Sven, behave.”

The reindeer grunted in agreement, and snatched a piece of bread from Anna’s hand.

“I never met an ice harvester before,” Anna continued. She looked over his shoulder at the ice blocks. They were clear, impossibly smooth and transparent as glass, without a crack or bubble inside. Anna kind of wanted to run her fingertips over the clean surface. “Will you sell that here?”

“Hopefully,” the man said. “Getting them was a nightmare, and it’s only getting harder from here.”

“Is the ice harvesting business in decline?” Anna asked. “You know, I might be able to speak to someone— I know Oaken’s Sjöberg’s nephew would like to help, although I don’t know if he’ll understand me.”

The guy’s eyebrows shot up.

“You know the Sjöbergs?” He asked.

“I do, indeed! I met them at my birthday ball last spring. Maybe I could convince them to purchase some of your ice…”

“You had a birthday ball?”

“Yes. Anyway, what was your name again?”

“Uh, Kristoff. Kristoff Bjorgman.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kristoff Bjorgman,” Anna said, with a small curtsy. “Princess Anna.”

Kristoff nodded, with his eyebrows still by his hairline, as if thinking ‘yeah, that explains a few things’. 

“I didn’t know you could leave the palace,” he commented.

“Oh, that’s a new development,” Anna clarified. She smoothed over her skirt, straightened her back and closed her eyes, in the picture of an elegant noblewoman. “If I may say so, Kristoff Bjorgman, your ice looks wonderful.”

“You think?” 

“Oh, totally,” Anna said. She dropped the basket to the ground and approached the wagon. “It looks so clean and pretty.” She raised a hand to graze over the smooth, cold texture. They had barely melted at all— she could tell because the edges and vertexes were still sharp and the surface was quite dry. Her eyes drifted down to the tools hanging from the side of the wagon. “Did you chop them yourself?”

“Yes. I work alone.”

“What about Sven?”

“Sven is an exception.”

Sven nodded, and subsequently buried his snout into the forgotten basket lying on the dirt. Kristoff struggled with the harness until it finally fell apart into useless leather straps, which he tossed carelessly into the wagon.

“All good there, buddy,” he mumbled under his breath, giving Sven a few pats on his side. “Let’s take a break. I don’t want to think about going back anytime soon.”

Sven shook his head, as if recalling a horrible memory.

“Your harvest ice from the Black Mountains, right?” Anna inquired. “What happened up there?”

“That storm,” Kristoff explained. “Remember last week? It’s been coming from the north for the last month. We’ve been feeling the wind ever since the beginning of autumn. It hit harder up there.”

Anna’s eyes squinted. She stepped closer to Kristoff as he sorted through the remnants of the broken harness, cutting off with a knife what was salvageable and tossing what wasn’t into a bag. He rescued buttons, buckles, and the whole collar. 

“So…” she began. “Would you say you… know how to read the weather?”

“I know a thing or two,” he said, very mysteriously. “I know we’ll be seeing more from what that storm came from.”

And just like that, all the puzzle pieces clicked together. When Kristoff climbed onto the wagon to sort through his things and store what remained of the harness among his tools, Anna leaned on its edge, standing on her tiptoes to appear taller.

“You wouldn't happen to be looking for a job, would you?"

On the day of the council meeting, Anna combed her hair into a delicate bun with the help of her maids, and picked a conservative dress of heavy fabric and dark colors. Green, brown, black. Mostly black, to be honest. She walked down to the big oak-wood door and two members of the castle staff opened it without her needing to knock. She held in her hands the papers with a vice-like grip, and keeping them close to her chest, she rounded the long, empty table, and sat at the head, opposite to the King’s seat. And then, she waited. 

Slowly, ministers began to approach the table, all of which gave Anna quizzical looks, but none dared to question her. They exchanged polite greetings before taking their seats in wait for the King. And when the King did arrive, he observed Anna for a long moment before taking his place. Anna held her gaze as confidently as she could, and she was morbidly satisfied when her father lowered his eyes and pulled back a chair.

“Good evenings, gentlemen. Ladies.” He made a polite gesture towards his daughter. “Shall the session begin.”

The men at the table nodded, all of them strangers, men doing their job who did not know the Royal Family personally, yet still would decide over the life and body of the Crown Princess as if she were a breeding mare with health problems. 

Between them and Elsa, only Anna stood.

“Princess Anna,” the King said, “You were instructed during the past session to develop an action plan regarding Princess Elsa’s situation. Has this work been completed?”

Anna cleared her throat, stood up, and tried to swallow back her pounding heart, which had lodged itself inside her throat.

“Your Majesty,” she said, “I have developed a plan, indeed. I have also consulted meteorologists from the Royal Navy and the Faculty of Natural Sciences regarding the recent meteorological phenomenona and what can be done about them.” This wasn’t exactly a lie, but a… well-polished truth. “But... I have also discovered that before scholars, we should seek the advice of those who experience our subarctic climate on a daily basis, and have learned to read it as if it were second nature.” She observed the reaction of the ministers, looking for disapproval, but only found silent patience. “I’m talking about ice harvesters, in particular,” she elaborated, and she recalled the events following her encounter with Kristoff— her visits to the Ice Harvester’s Guild House, her conversations with old men of calloused hands and glazed-over eyes. “Every ice harvester I’ve spoken to confirmed they’ve been expecting this month's storm during the weeks prior to.. to it. To the storm, I mean. They also mentioned more than once that it came from..." She shamelessly checked her notes among the papers. "...The Arctic Circumpolar Current.” She raised in her hands the stack of papers. “...My King, I documented my research here, if you’d like to take a look later.”

“Please continue, Anna,” her father commanded, and Anna’s blood ran cold for an instant at his tone, but she pushed through her sudden spike of anxiety.

“I’m convinced this proves Princess Elsa had nothing to do with the recent storm,” she declared. “Because her mood had been stable before its arrival, and it only changed with Pavel Morozov’s visit. And... This also demonstrates King Agnarr’s theory regarding her positive emotions resulting in lack of control to be false.”

Father’s eyes widened a fraction, as his expression changed into one of indignation. However, Anna still pushed through.

“Elsa’s happiness does  _ not  _ result in her powers acting up,” Anna continued. “I think it helps her control them, in fact. And we’ve been making a lot of progress lately— also documented here.” She placed a hand over the stack. “So... your Majesty, I haven’t made a plan to repair something that doesn’t need fixing. Elsa and I are going down a good path, and all I ask from you is a little bit more time.”

“You suggest we allow you to continue handling the situation on your own?” Father asked.

“Yes,” Anna stated. “I’ll look after Elsa.”

Father nodded. He observed the stack of papers. 

“I shall read your report tonight,” he said. “Anything else you would like us to know?”

“Actually…” Anna took a deep breath. “Yes, your Majesty. There  _ is  _ something you should know.” She, again, swallowed and straightened her back. “We should expect upcoming rains and snowfalls from the Arctic Circumpolar Current this winter. Lots of them. We should do something about the crops, actually.” From the corner of her eye, she saw the Minister of Agriculture leaning a bit closer to the table. “I’m... You know, I'm telling you this because I would like to avoid this situation in the future. We should operate under the assumption that  _ none  _ of the following storms will be caused by Elsa’s magic. I know her magic is strong enough to cause them, but... just… just let me handle it, okay? Let me tell you when Elsa loses control, if that ever happens. I-It shouldn’t be difficult to tell Elsa’s snowfalls apart from regular ones, which is why I want to suggest we hire ice harvesters to help us better read the weather and offer a second opinion. I have one in mind, actually. The one who helped me the most.” She cleared her throat and faced her father, whose eyes were dark and hard as pieces of coal. “This is my plan, your Majesty.”

Father was quiet. Anna could see him breathe slowly and stroke his chin from the distance, his eyes drifting down to the papers she presented. Anna’s heart raced, and her stomach churned. She gulped and, when Father looked her in the eye, she held her gaze. There was something new in there. It was a look he’d never given a member of his family before.

“Very well,” he said, after the pause. 

Anna exhaled. The battle wasn’t over, still, but when push came to shove, she’d go down fighting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to apologize to all psychiatrists, psychiatry students, and people whose moms are psychiatrists. You guys are great. Keep up the good work. Love ya'll <3


	4. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 minutes til the day is over i live my life on edge look at how hardcore i am *minecraft meme*

In the beginning of winter, the fresh-water that flowed down into the arendellian pumping system adopted the color of death. It happened when a herd of wild muskoxen fell through the frozen surface of a lake, and their bodies were pushed down by the water until they got stuck in the watermill system. Their decomposing bodies poisoned the arendellian waters and made a big portion of the population ill before the authorities could even discover the cause.

At first, Elsa assumed her family would be safe— the palace had a separate supply of freshwater and they counted with the best physicians in the kingdom. She worried more about the people of the city.

Yet she hadn’t counted on Anna’s weekly visits to the Ice Harvester’s Guild House, or the food she brought from the port and the bakeries. She forgot about the children in the town’s square with whom Anna had snowball fights, and about the muskoxen farms she frequented, the artisans she purchased from and the old people she had long talks with. 

It began with a cough. Anna doubled over and held her stomach with one arm to lean on Elsa with the other. She laughed about it and brushed it off as having gotten a cold, but through her gloves, Elsa could feel the heat of her skin. She was worried when Anna didn’t visit her the next day. In her anxiety, she requested the maids that they told her when she returned from the village, but they looked at her with somber eyes and explained that Anna hadn’t left the palace at all. She had quite a cold, they said, and she needed rest. Elsa’s mind (or her anxiety, perhaps) quickly put two and two together, and Anna was only allowed out of her bed when everyone's breaths became visible inside the palace. Elsa had started a fire in her chimney as soon as she was informed Anna would be visiting, and when she showed up, she was too exhausted to play  _ tablut _ . The ice crept along the walls and up the roof, but Anna didn’t look scared. She just smiled, held her coat closer to her body, and climbed onto Elsa’s bed with open arms. Elsa hesitated, but she eventually accepted her invitation and sat with her back against the headboard and her baby sister’s warm, small body cuddled close to hers. Anna was in no position to be taking care of  _ anyone _ , but even if that had been her intention by visiting her sister, as soon as she fell asleep Elsa decided to take the chance to care for Anna, instead. Anna wouldn’t admit it, but she was in pain— she could see it in the way her brow furrowed in her sleep, in the way she held her gut with her hands.

A pang of warmth twirled in Elsa's stomach and she swiftly pushed it to the back of her mind, like she’d learned to do during the past months. Her poor mind got confused easily. Anna had been the only person her age to show her any affection, so of course she’d feel very strongly about her. She had no point of reference and so, she sometimes thought she felt things she didn’t. It was a pointless thing to ponder. She’d much rather hold her sister close, revel in the fact that she  _ could _ — that she could look her in the eye and wrap her arms around her, and that it was all thanks to  _ her _ —, and enjoy her slow breath, the softness of her hair against her cheek and nose, and the way in which her warm little body curled closer to Elsa looking for coolness and relief from the fight she was waging inside. It was mind-boggling to think her magic could ever  _ help  _ Anna rather than harm her. She didn’t believe it.

But despite the heartwarming feeling of having Anna by her side, safe and sound, she couldn’t ignore the wheezing sound of her breathing, her shivers, her sweaty forehead or how it took longer to wake her up when the time to leave came. 

And when she opened her eyes, they were wide as plates. She squirmed out of Elsa’s embrace, held her own trembling body with one arm, and leaning over the edge of the bed, she emptied her stomach on the carpet. Elsa’s stomach dropped at the sight of her sister in such a state, and she was so frightened, she didn’t dare touch her to hold her hair back or rub her hand between her shoulder blades. She called a maid for help, instead.

During the following days, Anna begged her family and doctors to please, let her move, let her go outside, let her see her sister, but Elsa herself was the most unyielding one to her pleas.

“You need to rest,” she’d said one day, after convincing Mother to give them a moment alone. “That is an order. If you knock on my door before you recover, you will find it locked.”

“But…” Anna had pleaded, rejection laced in her voice, reaching her hand out to touch Elsa, but she was too far away. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Elsa’s heart broke. She grasped Anna’s hand, and felt the heat through her gloves. 

“I’ll visit every day,” she swore, using a softer tone. “But I need you to promise me you will rest.”

Anna eventually relented, and quickly drifted back to sleep. 

The castle soon settled into a new routine, which included tending to ill people seeking help, daily visits from an increasingly frustrated dignitary from the Embassy of Weselton, the growing involvement of the Ice Harvester’s guild council meetings, and Elsa’s visits to Anna’s bedchamber. They usually lasted an hour, and Mother walked her from her room and back, never allowing her to wander the hallways alone. This made it impossible for Elsa to bring their  _ tablut  _ game along, something Anna had requested once. So, rather, her visits included mostly quiet talks and books, which Elsa read to Anna until she fell asleep. Her health didn’t seem to be deteriorating, but she wasn’t getting better, either. Her skin remained damp, pale and pasty, and her fever fluctuated just over the line between least concern and dangerous. She sometimes left her bed to walk in circles out of boredom, or even dance to invisible music, and she sometimes lied under five layers of blankets to hide from the cold. Elsa did her best to conceal her panic when she visited, but as soon as she returned to her refuge, her breathing became ragged and her eyes misted over as the mere thought of Anna getting worse. She held her ice in for as long as she could, because she knew that if any of it got out into the hallway, her baby sister would be woken up to deal with her curse and there was nothing Anna could say or do that would make Elsa any less frightened. 

Not having Anna in her room for half of the day made the blue wallpaper seem darker and colder. The unrelenting snow attacked the city from high above, masking the light of the sun. The storm was growing worse, and she was convinced it was her fault until the day came in which she visited Anna and she was already speaking to someone.

“I’ve talked to my family and they all agree with me,” a man said, dressed in heavy black furs and holding onto an old pickaxe.

“So, this snow is natural?” Anna’s weak voice asked. She was sitting with her back against the headboard, holding a cup of hot chocolate in her hands and wearing only a jacket over her plain linen chemise. 

The man nodded.

“I told you. We were in for a harsh winter since autumn. If you’re concerned about Northuldra magic, you should worry about your illness.”

Anna’s eyes widened slightly. Her grip around the mug visibly tightened.

“Oh, I don’t…” She coughed horribly, in a way that made Elsa bring a hand to her chest. “I don’t… Oh, Elsa!” 

Only then she seemed to notice her, and so did the man standing by her bed. She gripped her jacket and let her feet slide from the bed, to walk over to her, and before Elsa could warn her and tell her to stop, her ankles gave up under her weight, and she would have collapsed had Elsa not caught her in her arms. Inside her gloves, she could feel the hard frost pinching her skin. 

“Uh— your Highness,” the man said, with an uncomfortable bow. “I should get going. I’ll see you, Anna.”

“Oh?” Anna raised her weak head, still leaning on her sister. “See you later, Kristoff!”

He quickly disappeared behind the door and closed it shut. As Elsa helped Anna back to the bed, she asked:

“Who is he?”

“Kristoff Bjorgman,” Anna said, a little out of breath. “He’s the Royal Ice Deliverer.”

“I didn’t know we had one,” she commented. Then, Anna proceeded to give her an outrageous explanation involving council meetings, meteorology, the Ice Harvester’s Guild, and oddly enough, Elsa’s own wellbeing. 

“Anna,” she said, in a severe tone, for the hundredth. “You need to rest.”

“I know, I know, but… This is my job. I need…”

“Whatever it is, Mother and Father will deal with it.”

“No! No, I have to do it myself. Father sent him in, and Mother is busy with the illness and… and Arendelle and…” She tried to grasp for words and hopelessly failed. “Please, Elsa. Look outside. If Father thinks this storm is your fault… You…”

Only then she noticed the tears in Anna’s eyes, the desperation in her voice, the utter  _ terror  _ that shook her and stole away the sleep and strength she’d need in order to heal. She timidly spread her arms, and without needing to be told, Elsa gathered her in and held her close. The way Anna placed her head on her chest to listen to her heart was soothing, comforting, exhilarating. She could bury her fingers into her soft hair and even if she couldn’t feel its texture, she could still enjoy the closeness. 

She had her sister in her arms. She was  _ touching  _ her. Part of her still couldn't believe it. Part of her wanted to quickly pull away and never touch her again— she was a danger—, but all it would take was to hear Anna speak for her resolve to break.

“How was your day?” Anna asked quietly, as one of her hands grasped Elsa’s and began to play with her fingers.

“It was alright,” Elsa replied. “I’ve been studying.”

“Was it fun?”

Elsa smiled and held Anna closer.

“It was fun knowing I could visit you as soon as I finished.”

That was true. She'd been unable to get Anna out of her mind during the past days, for better or worse.

Anna sighed shakily, and by the way she inhaled, it was clear she struggled to breathe. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, just… Woosh!” Anna laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know?”

Elsa frowned, slowly pulling away. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” She insisted, because Anna looked flushed and unwell, but as a response, Anna only giggled and cuddled closer, hiding her face.

“Yeah. Just…” She grabbed Elsa’s arms and unceremoniously threw them around her own body. “Hold me a little bit.”

Elsa couldn’t say no to her, not when she made her feel like her heart would combust at any minute, so she complied, and let Anna drift off with her head on her chest and both of their hearts beating uncommonly quick.

Elsa had a talk with her mother the following day. It had been five days since Anna had fallen ill, and the town wasn’t faring much better. While Father locked himself up to speak to the Weseltean dignitary, Mother spoke to doctors, patients and trade companies in order to guarantee the wellbeing of her country. Elsa approached her to discuss Anna’s involvement with the Ice Harvesters during her recovery, but Mother spoke first.

“A train has been stopped at the border. Weselton refuses to send medicine.”

Her words, like a cannonball to her ribs, kicked all air out of Elsa’s lungs. 

Mother stood by the wide triangular windowpanes. She slowly turned around to face her eldest.

“Come here, Elsa, my love,” she asked, and Elsa obeyed, to stand by her side and observe the town below.

“I assume you say that because we don’t have medicine in Arendelle,” Elsa supposed.

“Not the kind we need, I fear,” Mother confessed. “And this has been going on all winter. The people are growing desperate.”

Her eyes were fixed in the city square, and when Elsa followed her eyes, she was surprised to find a half-built pyre or stake being dismantled by royal guards. Her stomach twisted at the sight.

“Have you heard about Minka Gáhppásdatter?” Mother asked. It was an unexpected question.

“Anna spoke to me about her,” Elsa confessed. Quickly putting two and two together, she added: “She’s Northuldra, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know,” Mother said. “Gáhppá isn’t an Arendellian name. With a patronym like that, it’s likely her father was.”

Elsa was silent for a moment.

“Are the people blaming Northuldrean magic for the illness?”

Her voice came out weaker than she’d wanted to. She felt smaller than she was.

Mother gave her a long, sad look. She sighed and dropped her gaze.

“I know your father and I have told you very scary things about… about the Northuldra,” she said, with a strange tightness in her voice. “I always worried you— I always worried you might see yourself in… them.”

Dangerous magic wielders, hidden, trapped, isolated behind a wall of clouds. Terrifying, cruel, vicious and heartless, backstabbing sorcerers who would sell their mother for their own gain. Something unknown, feared, shunned and… and perhaps, more welcoming of wicked creatures such as Elsa.

She feared she might not have always avoided the ghosts they left behind.

_ "Were the Northuldra magical? Like me?" _

_ "No, Elsa." _

A part of Elsa feared she might not belong to the world of Kings and Monarchs, swords, and to the Crown of Arendelle. She feared she might be…  _ happier _ , if only she’d been born as part of a different people.

She shook her head. She was not Northuldra— she refused to think she had anything in common with those  _ traitors _ . 

If she was anything akin to them, then she surely must belong to the burning pyre.

Yet she had to admit, she’d doubted Minka Gáhppásdatter would have found herself in her situation had she lived on the other side of the Mist. 

“Was the stake meant for Minka Gáhppásdatter?” She asked, and Mother nodded solemnly.

“I’ve sent my men to dismantle it,” she explained, “and I’ve assigned two guards to Minka Gáhppásdatter’s workshop. Witch trials are barbaric, Elsa. Not even a Northuldrean liar deserves such a fate.” Her voice quivered. “No matter how much I insist on the true explanation of the illness, the people of Arendelle will always find their scapegoat. Perhaps Minka Gáhppásdatter should have adopted her mother’s name rather than her father’s.”

Elsa nodded. She felt ill simply from the sight of the logs used for the pyre. A sense of nausea invaded her, a vertiginous emptiness in her gut. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Elsa asked. Mother’s lips curled into a smile, an expression of despair.

“I want you to be careful, my love,” she said. “That is all I ask from you. I want you to be… quiet. And careful. Do you understand?”

_ "The Mist still stands. No one can get it, and no one has since come out." _

_ "So, we’re safe." _

_ Safe. _

Perhaps she’d brought with her a little bit of Northuldra wickedness from out of the Mist, to further punish Arendelle, and this was the reason why her family had never been safe. Such a perverse  _ thing  _ did not deserve to be free from its bonds.

“I understand, Mother,” Elsa replied. 

Mother did not look satisfied or reassured in the slightest. She blinked. A hesitant hand rubbed over her eyes. She then shook her head firmly but didn’t say a word.

“I apologize,” she mumbled. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you all day, and I couldn’t help myself. But you wanted to tell me something.”

“Yes,” Elsa said with a nod. “It’s about Anna’s dealings with the Ice Harvesters. She’s in no state to strain herself by receiving them.”

“So, you and I are on the same page, then,” Mother said. “I’ve tried to talk some sense into your father, but he’s made his decision.”

“She is ill, Mother,” Elsa insisted. “She isn’t getting better.”

Mother seemed to have perceived the utter terror hidden beneath her voice, because she inhaled sharply and looked at her through half-squinted eyes, barely holding shut the floodgates.

“I will speak to the representatives of the Guild tomorrow,” she declared. “And I will ask them to direct all of their reports to me by letter on a weekly basis. Hopefully, your father will be too busy to notice.”

It was such a minor act of defiance against such a senseless command, yet the prospect of Father finding out was disturbing to both Elsa and, seemingly, her mother as well. Still, it was the best solution they could figure, and Elsa, if not happy, could be at least satisfied. 

_ ”Boahtti čohkkedit! Lagabiu…” _

_ “Cuddle close! Schootch in…” _

The heavy knocks on her door jolted her awake, like strings jerking a puppet around. Her limbs were heavy and lazy, and her head throbbed with an intermittent ache that only blinked when she could will her attention away from it. Anna desperately tried to cling to the comfort of her dream, but every time she reached her hands forward, it escaped her grasp, like the receding sea. Her mind was blank. Empty. The old, distant, familiar words were right at the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t pronounce them if her life was on the line.

“Mother…?”

“Princess Anna,” Kai’s comforting voice called from across the door. “The King is expecting your presence in the Council Room within the hour.”

Anna sighed. All memory of her dream was now lost forever.

“One second!” She shouted, rubbing one hand over her sore skull. This was the first time in the last week in which she’d woken up without immediately throwing up, which she considered an improvement. She’d probably be alright at the council. And, if she had time on the way back, she’d pay Elsa’s bedchamber a quick visit to retrieve their old friend. 

The  _ tablut  _ board and Elsa’s company seemed to be the only things capable of placating her stress after Council meetings. It had proven so ever since Anna began to attend them, and she’d missed it greatly. Having it back was… invigorating. 

However, it was rare the occasion in which Anna defeated Elsa, and seeing her last seven victories, she was beginning to think Elsa was letting her win.

“You know, you don’t need to hold back,” Anna commented, after a while. “I know you like to play for real.”

Elsa frowned.

“What do you mean?” She asked, clearly playing dumb.

“You’re letting me win,” Anna pointed out. 

“I’m not,” Elsa countered. “You’ve been getting better at this.”

“Oh, Elsa, I don’t think that’s true.”

“What do I need to do in order to make you believe me?” Her older sister asked, then, leaning in just a bit to listen to Anna’s response, but the way in which she spoke left Anna breathless and with a churning stomach, this time for a reason other than her illness (another illness, perhaps). She gulped. Her eyes flickered all over Elsa’s face— her kind, warm eyes, the gentle curve of her mouth, her beautiful white hair, tightly pulled against her skull, with only a few rebel strands sticking out and begging to be released. Anna was dying to bury her fingers into that hair and untangle it with her hands, pull at it, just a little bit, to pull her…  _ closer _ . 

Before her mind could wander into a more dangerous, disturbing territory, soft raps on the door announced someone else’s presence. Mother pushed the door open without waiting for a response, and Anna haphazardly shoved the board with its pieces beneath her blankets and pillows. She heard a couple of them fall on the carpet, and she could only pray Mother wouldn’t spot them.

Mother stood in the doorway for a second, with eyes wide switching between the sisters. Anna only then realized that must be the first time Mother had seen them so at ease with each other in a very long time. Elsa sat at the foot of her bed, with her feet dangling down the edge and her knees neatly drawn together, while Anna’s back rested against the headboard. For a reason, the mere thought of Mother walking in on them cuddling like they usually did made her blush furiously.

“Oh,” Mother then said, with a small, heartfelt smile. “Anna, my love, how are you feeling?”

“Uh? Me? You mean me?” Anna blabbered, pointing a finger to her chest. Through the corner of her eye, she saw Elsa nodding affectionately, and her stomach leaped pleasantly. Again. “I’m… good! I feel good.”

“Are you sure? You look flushed,” Mother pointed out, and she pressed the back of her hand to Anna’s forehead. “I’m going to call the physician to take a look at you later. Elsa, what do you think?”

Mother’s eyes turned to Elsa, who suddenly looked shy and uncomfortable, too, with a faint blush upon her face.

“I believe she looks healthier than before,” Elsa explained quietly. 

Mother’s eyes drifted down.

“Have you been playing a board game?” She asked, and Anna’s heart dropped with a frigid blow, as the cold hit her chest and a shiver ran down her spine. She looked at Elsa, but her sister simply stared at their mother, wide-eyed and still as a deer or a white arctic hare.

Mother knelt— so unlike a Queen— and picked something from the floor, a small square piece decorated with an eight-pointed star. She held it in her hand as if she held a very small creature.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything like this,” she mused. Looking up at her daughters, she asked: “Do you know what this piece is called?”

Elsa remained frozen in place, so Anna took it upon herself to answer.

“We’ve been calling it the Shaman,” she explained. “Because… that’s what it is, right? I mean, it’s a Northuldrean game, so…”

To her surprise, mother laughed— actually unabashedly  _ laughed  _ at her daughter's confusion.

“The Northuldra don’t have shamans,” she clarified with barely concealed mirth in her eyes. “Each village has multiple leaders, actually, and they're are called a different name. But the pieces don’t represent the Northuldra.”

Anna’s eyebrows shot up.

“They don’t?”

“No. Do you have the other pieces near?”

It took them about five minutes to gather the missing pieces, during which Elsa didn’t utter a word. By the time they were done, Mother began to explain:

“The pieces at the center represent the Svierna,” she said, and Anna’s mind couldn’t help to wander back to Gaspar Sjöberg and his family, who came from Sviarighi. “The notched pieces represent the Czarists,” Mother continued, gesturing at the pieces surrounding the Svierna, “and this one, the one you call the Shaman, is actually the King of Sviarighi.”

Anna’s heart began to pound unexpectedly strongly, suddenly more engrossed in the game than she’d ever been before. Perhaps it was because her mother knew something about it, and the thought was acheful and comforting and devastating, all at the same time, and she couldn’t tell why.

_ “One egg is not hatched yet,” _ read her older sister from the book.  _ “It will not break. But just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest little ducklings you ever saw? They are the image of their father, who is so unkind, he never comes to see.” _

They found themselves, once again, nestled together upon Anna's request. She just couldn't get enough of her sister's gentle touch, even though she could tell Elsa sometimes was nervous, sometimes was scared, yet always fulfilled her promise to meet her halfway whenever Anna opened her arms. 

She knew she was being clingy, but she deserved a damn pass. She had to cram ten years of sisterly clingy-ness into every single interaction and God knew she would.

They did not sit on Anna’s bed this time, though, but on the couch by her fireplace. Anna was alert enough to stand, listen, and play with the fingers of Elsa’s free hand. She rubbed the pad of her thumb over the silky, despicable fabric. She wanted to feel that hand without barriers. She wanted to touch Elsa’s cool, soft skin.

_ “Let me see the egg that will not break,”  _ Elsa continued. _ “I have no doubt it is a turkey’s egg. I was persuaded to hatch some once, and after all my care and trouble with the young ones, they were afraid of the water. I quacked and clucked, but all to no purpose. I could not get them to venture in. Let me look at the egg. Yes, that is a turkey’s egg; take my advice, leave it where it is and teach the other children to swim.” _

Her warm, quiet and raspy voice glided softly over the words, almost akin to a smooth string of sunlight. Oh, it would be foolish to attribute the storm raging outside to Elsa. To her, if Elsa— the real Elsa— was like anything, she was like sunlight. Sunlight shamefully contained inside a snowglobe, a sharp and brutal claw that hated itself. Anna was privileged to be allowed in, allowed to see what lied behind that glass.

“I think we already read this story,” Elsa commented after a while. “Do you remember?”

It was true. She’d made Elsa read it to her at least two times before, but she couldn’t help it. It was a beautiful tale, and she longed for the sound of her sister’s voice.

“Will you read it one more time?” She begged. “Please, Elsa? And I’ll read something for you in exchange later. Promise.”

The expression on Elsa’s face— between a gasp and a chuckle, a smile, as if suddenly hit by a billow of love, the squint in her eyes, the unadulterated adoration with which she looked at her, and only at her— left Anna breathless once again. To be looked at that way, and for those eyes to belong to Elsa, her older sister, of all people, was simply astonishing.

“Of course,” she whispered, squeezing Anna’s hand. “For you.”

Anna’s chest swelled with love. Oh, but if this was so… so pure and clean, clean as a princess marrying a knight, clean as the love they held for each other since they first met as little kids, before Anna possessed any memory. 

Why had it taken her so long to put a name to it? Why had she been so cowardly?

Elsa resumed her reading, but Anna could barely register a word. All she could do was to gawk at her big sister, longing to brush the pad of her thumb over her soft cheekbone, over her bottom lip. She found herself transfixed by the way her mouth pronounced the words. 

If only she could… touch it…

Elsa paused. She gave her sister an inquisitive look.

“Are you alright, Anna?” She inquired. Anna’s eyes widened. She gave a rigid nod. 

“Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?” She stammered, and she tried to smile but it must have come off as a dumb lovestruck grin, because she could feel her face flushing, and Elsa raised a playful eyebrow to express her disbelief.

“I didn’t know this was a romance novel,” she teasingly commented, which only caused Anna to blush worse. “One would think it’s making you flustered.”

“It’s not. It’s you.” Anna blurted. “I mean, not  _ you  _ you. You’re not making me flustered. Not with your voice, at least. It  _ is  _ your voice, but not because I have feelings for you— you’re my  _ sister _ , and a woman, too. That would be crazy. Wait, this is all coming out wrong.”

She sat up and scooched away, taking a comforting distance from her sister, whose expression now was one of concern.

“Anna,” she murmured. She made a pause. “Do you have feelings for me?”

Anna's stomach dropped.

“Oh, Elsa, of course not!” Anna insisted, and the warmth in her stomach was slowly replaced by emptiness. A sudden drop. Her heart quickened in alarm. “I can’t have feelings for you. You’re a woman.  _ I’m  _ a woman. S-sisters. That’s… That isn’t how it works,” She took a deep breath. “Right?”

Elsa’s stare was heart-stopping. Cold and empty yet also overflowing with apprehension. Horror with a tinge of disgust. 

She scrambled up to her feet.

Oh, no, no, no…

Anna’s hand shot up— to grab her arm, perhaps, but Elsa quickly backed away.

“I… I believe it’s time we part for the night,” she said, and her voice was devoid of all the warmth she held for her sister and her sister alone.

Anna’s heart jumped into her throat.

“Wait!” She cried, as Elsa went for the door. She tried to stand but her legs nearly gave up under her weight. “Elsa, please! Wait, let’s…”

The door slammed shut, and the sound was so loud, it hit Anna like a train, a heavy ship hull against her skull. It rang in her ears like a distant, ten-year-old pain she’d never dared to cry for before, but which now stole her breath away— made her gasp— choke— and misted over her eyes like a wall of clouds. 

_ No... _

No, no, no. It couldn't be happening. She didn't— she didn't even  _ want  _ to feel this way! It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault, but it  _ was _ , because it was something in her that repelled her sister. Something she'd failed to forget about.

She’d been stupid enough to lose her sister again.

_ ”Ahto-mii-maid?” _ She’d asked.

_ ”Go mund ledjen unni, de lávvi eadni lávlut erenoamáš joga birra man namma lei ‘ _ Ahtohallan _ ’,”  _ Mother had replied.

Anna jerked away in the middle of the night, without knocks on her door or sunlight seeping through her window. Only the distant, disturbing melody of… something. An old song, maybe… and words which she couldn’t… maybe if she dug deep enough, she might…

Mother hovered over her, with her lips pulled into a tender smile, one hand gently stroking Anna’s bangs.

“Mama?” She croaked. Her heavy tongue could barely pronounce words or control itself. Every sound— the rustling of the maid’s feet, the physician’s tools clattering against each other, everyone’s heavy footsteps— felt like cold steel nails being hammered into her head. She tried to cover her ears, but it was as if the sounds came from inside of her.

She raised a hand to reach for her mother, but the maid stopped her. 

“No, your Highness,” said the maid, and seized Anna’s hands to place them back on the bed. “Her Majesty is busy at the moment. She shall visit soon.”

Anna blinked lazily. Could the maids not see her mother standing next to the bed? Although she did look different— her hair was grey and her eyes were brown. The more she looked at her, the more she looked like a maid rather than her mother. Which was absurd, because her mother was right  _ there _ .

It was cold. So, so cold, but her clothes and hair were damp.

By the time her mother came to visit— her real mother, not a shadow fabricated by her mind— Anna was feeling just a little bit better. She was well enough to recognize the people around her, and to raise her arms into a silent request to be held.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, my love,” she whispered into her daughter's ear, and pulling back, she added: “Things are complicated in the city.”

Anna regarded her mother for a second— her brown hair, her round face, which looked so much like her own and like Elsa’s—, and she couldn’t help but to recall last night’s story, the one about a lost little swan raised by ducks. For some reason, the memory broke her heart— shattered it, like a sledgehammer, like a sharp nordic sword from Old Àrnadarl. She furiously rubbed her eyes to hide the mist behind them.

“Oh, Anna, sweetie,” Mother cooed, gathering her in her arms and allowing her to bury her face in her shoulder. Anna didn’t dare to ask, didn’t dare to say a word, but her mind tried to dig into that memory and understand those words that had once been a part of her but were now forgotten. 

Elsa didn’t visit during the following days, until Father walked her to Anna’s bedchamber himself. She remained silent and pliant, quietly sitting on the couch by the hearth after Father’s departure. The maids had insisted on keeping the fire going, even though Anna felt like melting.

“Are you mad at me?” Anna asked.

“No,” Elsa answered curtly, and did not elaborate.

Anna’s feet slid off the edge of the mattress as she sat up, enjoying the feeling of not touching warm covers anymore. Her head still ached and her stomach felt like someone was scrambling her guts with their bare hands, but she still had a job to do.

“Are you upset?” She pressed. “Because… because if you are, I need to know. I can’t let… I won’t…”

She trailed off, her head spinning and forcing her back down on the hot, heavy sheets. Through the corner of her eye, she caught Elsa giving her a look of concern.

"I love you. I don't want you to be sad," Anna continued. "I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

Shouldn’t have… what? What had she done? Her mind couldn’t remember, but she had the impression it had been really, really bad.

A cool gloved hand brushed her damp bangs to the side, and Anna was aware of how much she despised the texture of the fabric. Something cold and moist pressed over her forehead. Her sister now leaned over her, holding the soaked cloth to Anna's hot skin, and her eyes were soft, kind. They gazed upon Anna with adoration and apprehension. 

“I’m not upset,” Elsa reassured her. Her voice sounded like… water. Cool, delightful river water. Anna really needed some water, like, right now. “I’m sorry I got scared.”

Anna shook her head. Her eyes fixed on her gloved hands for a moment.

“Don’t… don’t…” She sighed. “Do you have… uh... water?”

A porcelain cup was raised to her lips, as a delicate hand held the nape of her neck to help her. Warmth tingled through her neck and down her gut. It was much more pleasant than the fire’s heat. The cold, cold water running down her throat was like clarity, like the clouds parting and letting in the light. Once Elsa removed the cup, Anna thought she could see her better. 

“Hi,” she said. The corner of Elsa’s mouth twitched.

“Hi,” she whispered back, and then placed the cup on the bedside table and retreated to the couch. Anna tried to prop herself up on her elbows, but they couldn’t seem to hold her weight and ended up betraying her, dropping her back on the bed. She wanted to follow her sister to the couch and be closer when she asked her questions, but it seemed like she’d have to try from her bed.

“Elsa?” She asked, quietly. 

“Yes?”

“Do you remember Mama ever talking about her parents?”

Elsa was dead silent, so silent in fact, that for a moment Anna worried she’d be gone, but when she turned her head, she found her sitting right there, on the couch by the fire.

“No,” her older sister replied, after a moment. “I do not.”

Anna breathed in deeply.

“Elsa, I think Mama is Northuldra.”

“No, she is not.”

The answer was sharp and swift.

“But…” Anna tried to sit up again, this time with the help of the headboard. “But I think… Don’t you remember, when we were little? And she would… She sang us this song, but not in Arendellian. I  _ swear  _ I could understand her then, but now I try and…”

Elsa rose to her feet, effectively shutting Anna up, and slowly wandered towards the large triangular window. The curtains, half-drawn, did not hide the darkness of the night sky.

“Anna, do you remember the woman that sold you the  _ tablut  _ game?” Her sister asked. Anna nodded, and Elsa took this gesture as a sign to proceed. “She was found dead three days ago, below the bridge. Her father was rumored to be Northuldra, so she was blamed for the epidemic. The people built a stake at first, but Mother sent men to bring it down, and pronounced direct orders to prevent any witch hunts in Arendelle. Still, someone caught Minka Gáhppásdatter on their own.” Elsa swallowed. “She’s dead,” she said. “Even though she didn’t do anything. Do you understand what I’m saying, Anna?”

Anna’s lungs didn’t respond to her. She forced them to move— to suck in all the air they could, because she didn’t know when she would get to breathe again—, and then she shut her eyes and brought her knees to her chest. 

“This can’t be real,” she murmured. “A-are you sure, Elsa?”

“Mother told me,” Elsa clarified. Her eyes weren’t cold, but compassionate and full of hurt. “I’m so sorry, Anna.”

Anna sniffled. She barely knew Minka Gáhppásdatter— they’d only spoken a small number of times—, but the injustice, the cruelty of… of...

Cold, soft arms wrapped around her, and for some reason, her sister let her hide in her shoulder, in her collarbone.

“Anna,” she whispered. “You can’t say things like that.”

Anna shook her head.

“But…” she mumbled. “But Elsa, this… This could explain your magic, right?” She pulled back to look at her sister in the eye. “If we’re Northuldra…”

“We’re not.”

“I know, I know, but if Mama is…”

“Anna, aren't you listening?” Elsa hissed, pulling away and shaking Anna’s shoulders in exasperation. “We can’t link ourselves to  _ them _ .”

“Why not?”

“Because…!” Elsa sighed and screwed her eyes shut. “Because they are enemies of Arendelle. You know that, Anna. I know you love history, and Grandfather wouldn’t have wanted you to forget.”

The mention of King Runeard felt like a stab to the chest. Like treason.

Anna’s gaze hardened. Her throat constricted momentarily.

“Grandfather would have wanted you dead,” she told her, without an ounce of hesitance. “Father knows it. I heard him say it. If he were here, he would have seen you the same way he sees  _ them _ , and  _ you  _ wouldn’t get to hide from it. So don’t tell me about what Runeard would have wanted.”

Elsa’s eyes widened a fraction. She stepped back.

“Perhaps he’d be right, then,” she said. Anna’s stomach dropped.

“That’s  _ so  _ not true,” she argued. “Goodness, Elsa, why would you say that?”

“Because the Mist is there for a reason, Anna,” Elsa insisted. Her brows furrowed. “The world isn’t as fair as you wish it to be.”

Their meeting concluded shortly after, and during the remaining minutes, Anna couldn’t get a single meaningful word out of Elsa.

Her hands skimmed over the spines of books, knuckled bending under the pressure, unable to remain straight. When a title caught her eye, she struggled to rescue it from the bookshelf, because it was heavy, so much heavier than she’d ever remembered. She opened it and searched for the keywords— subtitles and illustrations that could reveal its usefulness— and when she found nothing about Arendellian history, she placed it on the library table, because she didn’t trust her hands to fit it back in place.

She opened a leather-bound book and opened it out of instinct.

_ “King Aren's first expeditions to the North resulted in..." _

“Anna.”

She dropped the book. The slap of leather against wood was another blow to her skull.

“What are you reading?” Father curiously asked. Anna dropped to her knees to pick up the book. 

“O-oh, you know.” She kept her head down. “It’s nothing.”

Her health began to dwindle towards the end of winter, or so Elsa heard. Mother said she struggled to rise from her bed, and that she spent most of her time sleeping or vomiting. Elsa visited often, and she could see with her own eyes how Anna’s skin turned pale, and she could hear her laborious breathing. She read to her, and when she was desperate, even sang to her an old lullaby their mother used to sing, which always drew a smile from Anna’s tired eyes. But she didn’t need the doctors’ reports to know Anna was grave. While her little sister had before playfully propped her chin upon her shoulder to observe the book as Elsa read to her, her head now laid motionlessly against her collarbone. While her eyes used to be alight with adoration and wonder, they were now shut, with dark bags hanging from them. 

_ “Will you read it one more time?” _ She remembered her pleading.  _ “Please, Elsa? And I’ll read something for you in exchange later.” _

Elsa would give anything to hear Anna’s strong, healthy voice read to her. She prayed to all the gods she knew to let Anna fulfill her promise.

_ “I can’t have feelings for you. You’re a woman. I’m a woman. S—sisters. That’s… That isn’t how it works. Right?” _

Stammering words that had once been frightening (because they called things by name), she now infinitely endearing. Her little Anna was, too, dealing with scary feelings, and Elsa would have rejected her one year ago, but all she wanted now was to hold Anna’s face between her hands and tell her it was okay, that she loved her, too, and that she always would. 

This bright young girl could disappear so easily, in the blink of an eye. A beautiful little life snuffed out.

She recalled the way Anna’s cold little body had felt like in her arms so many years before, and the dread, the utter  _ terror  _ she felt when she didn’t hear her breathing. 

Anna in her arms as a moribund child. Anna in her arms  _ now _ . She held her when they were little because she’d thought that way she’d keep her safe, without knowing she was only keeping her closer to the beast. Like she did now, when Anna closed her eyes, and Elsa deceived her and let her think she was safe with her. And her fears about her magic might recede but the other dangerous part of her still remained, so close to unaware little Anna. 

She pushed it down— down, down. To her, it felt like choking the wind out of her lungs—  _ conceal, don’t feel, not even for her _ —, and she could tell by the way it hurt that she was being a good girl.

Her feelings were unimportant. Elsa had rejected her again, and again, and again, all because she was afraid of what she could do to her— hurting her— losing her. She'd once again been selfish. Yet so close to Death’s door, all Elsa wanted to do was to hold her close so she wouldn’t be ripped away from her arms.

She saw Father speaking to Anna during her next visit. He stood tall above her at the foot of her bed, as he spoke about the weather. That was perhaps the first time Elsa ever experienced true, unadulterated anger towards her father, because Anna should be  _ resting _ . She should be  _ recovering _ . Yet Father kept her up with his careless, ridiculous pretenses. The frost between her skin and the fabric of her gloves was sharp, desperate to get out. She wanted to let the cold wind push him out and then seal the door with ice, so he would never get in again. 

“But…” Anna stammered later, only half awake. “There’s so many people…”

“Where?” Elsa asked, as she ran a hand through Anna’s damp hair.

“I don’t know,” Anna mumbled, “I said I’d talk to them…”

Elsa spoke to her mother and she corroborated Anna had, indeed scheduled a meeting with a representative from the Ice Harvester's Guild for the following afternoon. It was imperative, Anna had insisted.

“I intended to take care of it,” Mother explained. “But the trial for Minka Gáhppásdatter’s murder has been getting complicated, and I wanted to overlook the procedure. Perhaps, if I could make some time…”

Mother looked exhausted, with heavy bags under her eyes and disheveled hair. 

“What about Father?” Elsa asked. “Is he unable to make time?”

Mother sighed.

“Your father is finally striking a deal with the Sjöberg family to purchase medicine from the Southern Isles,” she replied. “He has an important meeting with Oaken Sjöberg around the same time as Anna’s meeting with the Guild representative.”

Elsa clenched her fists, and felt the frost dig into her skin. She did not feel ready, not at all, but Anna was not ready either, and if they could share a bed considering all the diverse risks this implied, then speaking to a Guild representative must be easy.

“I’ll take care of it, then,” Elsa declared, much to Mother’s surprise. 

It took some convincing, but by the afternoon of the following day, Elsa sat on the library couch with guards by the door and her gloved hands folded over her lap. She glanced at the grandfather clock and reminded herself every five minutes that she loved Anna more than she loved anyone else. 

_ “For you.” _

They both had to fight different battles, and Anna had fought by her side before. Elsa refused to abandon her when she needed her the most.

The Guild representative was an old man with calloused hands and wide shoulders, who could barely fit through the door with his heavy fur coat. A series of tools hung from his belt, some of which Elsa couldn't recognize. She struggled to distinguish his features through his thick grey eyebrows and bushy beard.

“Your Highness,” he said with a bow, almost perfectly hiding his surprise upon seeing Princess Elsa instead of her sister, but she still noted the way his eyebrows shot up. 

She was not Anna.

“Welcome, Mr…”

“Vainøsen,” the old ice harvester clarified. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Elsa.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Elsa replied. “I apologize for my sister’s absence. She has fallen ill.”

“Worry not,” Vainøsen reassured her with a wave of his hand. “In fact, I bought her something, in the name of the Guild.”

Elsa’s eyes widened when, from his belt, he unbuckled a huge pickaxe, with an old, chipped-away metal head, and intricate nordic carvings on its wooden handle.

This was a piece of Anna’s life she knew nothing about.

“She… uh…” Vainøsen hesitated as he held the tool. “She mentioned she liked my grandfather’s pickaxe last time she visited, so I figured I would gift it to her, as a get-well present. Hopefully, one day she’ll get to come with us and give it a better use than I have.”

“Go with you?”

“Yes,” the old man replied, holding back a timid laugh. “Maybe she’s just young and jesting, but she’s mentioned she would like to come work with us for a season at some point, to see what it’s like. She loves being outdoors, does she not?”

“She does,” Elsa agreed with a nod, as she extended a hand to take the pickaxe. It was heavier than she expected, and she could barely hold it up, but at least it was clean. She placed it on the small table before the couch. “I’m sure she’ll love your gift, Mr. Vainøsen. I’ll make sure to give it to her tonight.”

“Thank you, your Highness,” he said, bowing once more. “Now that this is out of the way, there was the matter of the weather.”

“Yes?” Elsa held her head high, listening attentively.

“Strong storms come from far away, I fear,” Vainøsen explained. “You can feel it in the Black Mountains. The Arctic Circumpolar winds will hit Arendelle soon, and I wouldn’t expect a kind first month of spring, either. As you know, your Highness, the ice harvesting business is at its weakest in winter. A lot of us seek seasonal jobs in farms outside the city to compensate for the economic loss, but the family I’ve been working for is… you see, your Highness, they are concerned about their animals. They’re not muskoxen, Princess, they’re simple goats.”

“You think animals might die this winter?”

“They already are, your Highness,” Vainøsen said. “The lady following after me will be able to explain to you the full extent of our problems. I just wanted to communicate my worries.”

As soon as he said these words, Elsa's stomach dropped, a heavy sense of defeat and frustration draping over her. 

His time to leave arrived soon, and he left the pickaxe behind for Elsa to tend to as she waited for the farm lady who followed after. She didn't have the time to sight in relief or to prepare herself to attend to someone she wasn't expecting. She could only wonder if this was how Anna usually spoke to the people, without any semblance of preparation or organization. Elsa wouldn't put it past her to allow in anyone who fancied showing up.

_ "For you." _

Yes, Anna, for you. For you. 

She surely loved Anna a lot to put herself through this.

“Good afternoon, your Highness,” the lady greeted her. She must be only a few years older than her mother. “Pardon my forward ways, but is Princess Anna not alright?”

“She’s ill and resting,” Elsa explained, doing her best to conceal her bad temper. “Did she summon you here today?”

“Summon me?” The old lady asked, seemingly baffled. “Anna rarely summons anyone but the ice harvesters, as far as I know. She simply announced through Kristoff Bjorgman that she was already welcoming people.”

Of course. She'd guessed right.

“I apologize,” Elsa said. “I was not aware of my sister’s methodology.”

“That is quite alright, your Highness,” the woman said. “Shall we return on another day?”

We?

Elsa held back a sigh.

“How many people are waiting in the hallway?” She asked.

“Half a dozen, your Highness. I myself came as representative of the  _ Qiviut  _ Weavers’ Guild, but I shall leave if this is not a good time.”

Elsa held her hands together. Right. For Anna.

“No. It’s alright,” she reassured the woman. “Please, take a seat. What do you need?”

Elsa spent the rest of her day attending to the problems of farmers,  _ qiviut  _ weavers, small business owners and, finally, woodcarvers from Minka Gáhppásdatter’s workshop, who wanted justice for their mentor and were willing to provide information regarding the circumstances of her death, as well as for the possible suspects. 

“You will want to speak to my mother,” Elsa said. “I will talk to her tonight and send for you as early as possible.”

Minka Gáhppásdatter’s apprentices (friends,  _ family _ ) bowed to her and finally abandoned the library, granting her the relief she so much needed. She nearly collapsed on the couch, but managed to behave herself in front of the guards. She wondered how Anna could possibly do this… how often? Every month? Every week? It was insane, but these people clearly adored her almost as much as Elsa did.

She held the heavy pickaxe in both hands. She’d be paying Anna a quick visit that night, to make sure she was doing alright, and not feeling too lonely.

As soon as Elsa entered the room, she found the bed empty.

The dull-colored sheets were neatly and tightly arranged on the mattress, without a feather or woolen string out of place, nothing to signal a human being had ever slept on them. Darkness and cold spilled from the dead fireplace, and the cold reached her claws into every corner of the Princess’ bedchamber like a wind wraith, breath catching in Elsa’s throat, a tip of the pickaxe landing softly on the wooden floor. 

“Anna?” She called quietly, half-hoping to see Anna asleep on the couch with a book over her lap, or hopping out of the dressing room all tangled up in an old wedding dress. 

No one answered. 

Her heart jumped. Elsa held her breath as if to hold it down, keep it together, and placed the pickaxe on the floor by the couch, because she didn’t trust herself to hold it. She walked over to the window, through which she saw the sleeping city of Arendelle, quiet and tired under the dark of dusk. Her eyes drifted for a moment over to the city square, where angry people had once build a pyre, or so she'd heard.

The door swung open just before Elsa had the time to put her thoughts into words. Her head immediately snapped to see her little sister standing there, in the doorway, with eyes wide and her hair pulled into a bun.

“Oh, Elsa!” Anna exclaimed. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

Elsa sighed—  _ gasped _ , at the sight of her sister on a comfortable wool dress, with shoes on her feet, books in her arms and color in her skin. It was such a different sight from the feverish girl unconscious on her bed. 

“Anna?” She mumbled dumbly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have told you I wouldn’t be here,” Anna said. “I just thought you’d come earlier, and I couldn’t find you, so I went to the library to find some history books to pass the time. I’ve been meaning to do that for a while now, but I kept running into Father and… you know… woosh! Right? But…”

The force of Elsa’s arms suddenly thrown around her neck cut her off, whatever words would follow now turned into a dreamy sigh. Without disentangling herself from Elsa's grip, Anna managed to reach her arms towards the nightstand to place the books there, before returning her big sister's embrace, her delicate hands trailing around her waist in a way no one else had ever done before. A way that made her feel loved and protected, and perhaps even wanted. Anna's skin was still slightly warm, but she looked significantly stronger, too. Elsa wished she’d let her hair down, because the need to nuzzle it was overwhelming. She almost let her hands snake up her head to unbraid it. Almost. 

“Elsa?” Anna asked, after a moment. “Are you alright?”

Elsa smiled, and slowly pulled away.

“Yes,” she reassured her, as one hand cupped her cheek. “Everything is alright now.”

Anna thoughtlessly leaned into Elsa’s touch, and her heart jumped again but for an entirely different reason. 

They sat on the couch and talked over a cup of tea, which Anna insisted on bringing from the kitchens herself while Elsa waited, perhaps to demonstrate her strength, perhaps to showcase her chivalry. She took the waiting time to retrieve the  _ tablut  _ board and arrange the pieces for Anna’s arrival, and to Elsa's joy, her sister was delighted to see the game already waiting for her upon her return.

“The physician gave me some new medicine last night,” Anna explained. “I woke up feeling so much better.”

“I can tell,” Elsa said. “I’m truly happy to hear that. What else did you do today?”

“Today? Oh, you know. Mostly reading.” She showed her the cover of one of the books. “The doctor says I should rest for one more week before going back into the city, so I wanted to use my time to… research something.”

Elsa raised a curious eyebrow, but didn’t ask Anna to elaborate. She had an idea of what she could mean.

“What about you?” Anna asked. “I mean, I’m sure you must have been busy studying and… you know, trying to relax. Are you reading anything new?”

Elsa could feel the corner of her mouth twitch.

“Actually…” She began, reaching a hand behind the couch to hold the pickaxe. “Someone came to bring you a gift.”

Anna’s eyes went wide as plates as soon as they fell upon the tool.

“Did Ejner…?”

“Ejner?”

“Ejner Vainøsen, you know. He came here?” One hand buried itself in her own hair. The other hovered over the pickaxe, as if scared of breaking it. “I can’t believe I forgot. Wait, did you…?”

“I handled everything,” Elsa clarified. “I spoke to Vainøsen and all the people who came here seeking help.” She couldn’t hold back a smile. “They really love you, Anna.”

Anna’s face reddened, just slightly, as her palm brushed over the carved wood of the pickaxe. She slowly took it from Elsa’s hands and placed its weight on her lap.

“Oh, look at it, Elsa. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Wait, and you spoke to all of them yourself?”

“All of them.”

“And you weren’t… How…” She threw her hands into the air. “How was it? How did you feel?”

Elsa cast her eyes away, thinking about her answer.

“It was…” she began, and stopped to search for words. “It got easier as time went on.”

“Did you ever feel unsafe? Or— or like your powers would come out?”

“I worried at times,” she admitted. “But I don’t think we were ever truly in danger.”

Anna chuckled.

“Of course not, silly!” He playfully chided her. “You aren’t dangerous.”

Her heart jumped— skipped a beat— yet one more time. 

_ Not dangerous. Not— _

“In fact…” Anna continued, inhaling deeply as if trying to breathe in her courage. “I was— I was wondering if…"

Elsa quirked an eyebrow. 

"What is it?"

Anna chuckled awkwardly, and shook her head.

"Oh, it's nothing," she said, clearly lying. She averted her gaze and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Elsa's heart quickened for an instant, and her mind jumped back to that storybook, to her sister by her side, on that very same couch, and to the way Anna has spoken. To the way she'd felt as she heard her words. 

_ She's your little sister. _

_ Don't feel that. Don't— _

_ She's not scared of you. _

"I was just wondering if..." Anna wrung her hands together. "Would you say your gloves help?"

Elsa leaned back slightly. That was an unexpected question.

"They do," she told her. "Why?"

Anna didn't reply right away. Rather, she studied her sister's face, her hands, her posture, in a way that made Elsa feel oddly self-conscious. 

"I was..." Anna hesitated. "I was wondering if I may... take them off?"

Elsa blinked. She frowned.

“Take them off?”

“Your gloves, I mean.”

She extended a hand, like a gentleman, at a careful distance yet also inviting, expecting. 

Elsa’s hands grasped each other.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“But you don’t have to!” Anna quickly added. “I’m not gonna force you or anything. You should take all the time you need. But… you know, I…” She shrugged, avoiding Elsa's gaze. “Never mind. I just wanted to try, That's all.”

Elsa’s breath hitched. Something warm spread across her belly. Across her chest. 

_ "For you.” _

She could feel the magic inside. It was grand and powerful and it responded to  _ her _ . It did so much more firmly than it had back in the library.

She didn't know why Anna wanted her to take that step. It had no logical justification, because Elsa didn't need to leave her gloves. And so, because it was Anna who she was dealing with, Elsa could only assume her reasons were affective rather than rational. And she'd made her a promise before. 

_ Perhaps,  _ supplied her ill mind, _ perhaps your little sister simply wants to hold your hand. _

With half-concealed trepidation and still lungs, Elsa placed her hand on Anna’s waiting fingers. 

_ Yes. _

Anna looked up, blinking as if she couldn’t believe what was unfolding before her eyes.

“Are… Wait, are you  _ sure _ , Elsa?”

“Yes.”

They’d been much closer before, huddled in each other's arms. One piece of clothing was nothing. And Anna trusted her. She believed her to be ready.

Secretly, she, too, was desperate to feel the texture of Anna’s skin under her thumb, to feel her hair slip through her digits. 

Anna’s fingers pinched the silky fabric and slowly, very slowly, began to pull at it, and Elsa’s heart raced with every inch of skin uncovered. It was terrifying. Exhilarating. She dreaded to have her gloves gone and she longed to run her hands over Anna’s skin, her clothes, the texture of the fabric that composed her bodice. 

The empty glove hung limply from Anna’s hand, and she quietly placed it on the small table. 

Elsa breathed. Her hand in Anna’s. Her naked skin grazing hers, and it felt like too much all of a sudden— both emotion and sensation flooding her brain—, with the warmth, the weight, the  _ texture  _ of someone else’s hand against hers. Her own hand almost felt soft and tender, overly sensitive to the touch. 

Anna’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, and Elsa did her best to keep a straight face, because it was only her hand, but the levels of care and gentleness in Anna’s caress brought a faint blush to her skin. 

The most incredible part of all? She didn’t feel one bit scared. Her powers were tightly contained under her hold. Anna was safe,

Safe, with her.

She brought her naked hand up, to cup Anna’s cheek. For real, this time, so that she could her skin, and she almost cried when her thumb grazed over her freckles, her cheekbone. A smile broke out. A toothy grin, which Anna mimicked with a lovely spark behind her eyes. 

“Hi,” she said, making Elsa laugh.

“Hi there,” replied Elsa. Anna’s eyes wandered all over her face— taking her in— as if Elsa could ever hold a candle to her little sister's beauty, as if she were anything worth adoring. Her hand wandered up to tuck Anna’s hair behind her ear, before returning to its rightful place, holding her close, caressing her cheekbone.

Anna’s face flushed. Her eyes landed on Elsa’s lips.

She could tell. Of course, she could. Elsa was not dumb. 

And Anna was a girl— her  _ little sister _ — and that should make her horrified, but how could she be? How could Anna be anything but loveable and delightful? How could she reject her when she’d fallen so close to Death’s claws twice in her short life?

Anna could have died and she would have died rejected. She’d never know her big sister loved her back. 

“Anna,” Elsa began, quietly and hesitantly. “Do you want to…?”

“Yes.”

_ Yes _ .

Her heart raced. Or stopped. She could no longer tell the difference when Anna leaned forward to let their lips touch. She could hear nothing but Anna’s breathing under the sound of her rushing blood, but she could feel her— her lips, the softest texture she’s ever touched. They were pliant and warm and wet when Anna pulled back, and her tongue poked out before retreating back into her mouth, sending a sudden jolt of electricity down Elsa’s spine. When Anna leaned in again, the hand on her cheek slid back to cup the back of her neck and  _ hold her. _ Elsa wouldn’t dare to pull her closer. She just wanted to… hold her. To touch that soft red hair. 

_ Yes _ , she thought.  _ Please _ . 

Please, please what? Please,  _ this _ . Why would she deny them  _ this _ ? Her beautiful little sister so close to her, so wonderful, so unconditionally loved. Elsa longed to kiss her forever.

They pulled back slowly. Her eyes fluttered open to see Anna, still so close to her, with her lids shut and her cheeks adorably red. 

When Anna’s eyes opened, they exchanged a smile.

“W-wow,” Anna blurted. 

When she didn’t add anything, Elsa pressed:

“Was that alright?”

“It was… oh, Goodness, Elsa.” she covered her mouth with her hands. “We kissed.”

A single beat of fear shook Elsa at these words— had she made a terrible mistake?— before Anna’s hands retreated to reveal her smile remained there.

“Did… did you like it?” Anna asked. “It’s okay if you didn’t! We can forget about everything. You just say the word.”

“I did like it,” Elsa reassured her, taking Anna’s hands in hers. Her free thumb wandered over Anna’s fingers. “Did you?”

“I… I didn’t think kissing could feel so good.” Anna giggled nervously. Elsa felt a pang of pride at seeing her little sister so flustered because of her. “Can we do it again?”

Elsa laughed— truly laughed out of pure happiness—, and with her hands on either side of Anna’s face, she guided her closer again. Should it be up to her, she’d kiss her sister until she forgot her own name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to apologize to the nation of sweden for butchering ya’ll’s language.


	5. Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know I'm like three days late. In my defense I have some very good excuses, which I'm not sharing because they concern my personal life, but know that I'm not abandoning this project. It's just taking me a bit too long to proofread and post everything, that's all. At this point I've given up on posting for EA week on time. I'll just update whenever I can. This WIP is my priority WIP right now so dw about that

The day of Anna’s seventeenth birthday was celebrated by the whole country. Instead of dancing in the ballroom with princes and sons of merchants, she wandered down into the village in simple brown shoes and a common dress to dance with each sailor, baker, farmer and woodworker in the square who offered her a hand, were they gentlemen or ladies. In the past months, she’d learned how to lead, and how to dance without stepping on a woman’s feet, although this was not the greatest surprise she had to offer. No, that had been the fact Kristoff Bjorgman finally bent to her will and, as a second birthday gift (after a beautiful, old and rustic knife he made himself out of a seal's rib), danced with her. Those who knew him laughed, Anna included, and once they were finished he said in her ear “Never again,” yet he, too, was beaming.

Although dressed in common clothes, she was recognized by all as their Princess of Arendelle, and they celebrated her birth from dawn to dusk, bringing gifts of love and peace in the form of bread, wood, wool and music— small musicians played their instruments well into the sunset, and the Princess sang her own song, too, to which she danced with them, feet leaping and bringing them in circles around the center of the square. Golden light spilled from the clear sky, casting cool shadows long like a cat’s bristled back, and the flowers, the bumblebees and the seafoam reached forward in Anna’s direction to wish her a joyous day. 

To everyone’s disappointment, Anna receded into the palace as the sun receded below the horizon. They expected the celebrations to go on past midnight, but Anna had made a promise to her mother and sister. Still, immensely flattered, she thanked them all, gave the kids one last piggyback ride around the town square, and then waved as she ran down the bridge and disappeared past the wide gates. One day, she thought, one day she’d open the gates and bring everyone in. One day she’d host a party inside, although as the doors closed behind her, her breath became heavy, difficult, as if they were closing around her neck. She shook her idea away. Why lock the free spirit of Arendelle in stone when you could celebrate in the town?

She tried to sneak past the maids— she really did—, but she still couldn’t neglect the King’s orders, and when they caught her and dragged her away from the snowflake-patterned door, they dressed her up, wrapped her hair into an elegant bun, and placed a light green dress on her. She apologetically asked them to tell her sister she wouldn’t be seeing her until later that night, and then, with a deep breath, walked into the ballroom. 

People in there, too, celebrated her birthday, but she didn’t know the names of half of them, couldn’t feel the wind in her hair, and couldn’t see the sky. Dancing with Gaspar Sjöberg that night, who had grown sober and severe, was nothing like spinning around with Kristoff Bjorgman, who stepped on her toes and whose friends teased from five feet away as he made passive-aggressive comments about Anna’s authoritarian tendencies.

“If this is how you treat your subjects, the Kingdom will turn against you before you even reach the crown,” he joked, as Anna grabbed his arm and dragged him back into the town square.

None of the nobles or merchants in the ball were anything like that, but that was alright, because the person Anna wanted to see the most was  _ riiiiiight  _ down the hallway, if only she could reach her…

“I never thought you’d be the one to miss your own birthday party,” Father commented from above, not deigning to look at her. “We're going to have a word later.”

His tone made Anna’s stomach sink a little, but then Mother appeared on her other side, and whispered:

“I heard the party in the city was a lot more fun than this one.”

Anna snorted, very un-princess-ly.

“Iduna,” Father warned her. “Do not encourage her.”

“Oh, I did worse things at her age,” Mother dismissed him with humor. “Don't you remember?”

“Sadly, I do.”

He stood silent, and Mother, not one bit intimidated, rolled her eyes when he wasn’t looking. Anna had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

A tense silence settled between the three of them, which Anna awkwardly decided to break.

“I convinced Kristoff to dance with me,” she commented.

“Kristoff? The ice harvester boy?”

“He’s not a boy, Mama, he’s like... Elsa’s age.”

Mother hummed.

“Please, don’t remind me my baby is all grown up now,” she said, and then her hand came up to cup Anna’s cheek. “And you’re turning seventeen today. I still can’t believe it.”

Anna only then realized she was the same height as her mother.

Father insisted on the importance of her presence at the ball, but eventually, she got Mother’s approval to leave, which was all she needed, and she kicked off her shoes at some point in the hallway to more easily race towards Elsa’s door. 

She knocked only to announce her presence, and then promptly barged in. The door was open for her. A soft, fire slowly drifted off in the hearth of the bedchamber, with the curtains drawn as to not let the warmth escape. It took Anna a second for her eyes to adjust to the cozy darkness. 

And her sister? Her sister lay on the wide bed, on cotton sheets and heavy wool blankets she had only for Anna's visits. They were tucked still beneath the mattress, neat and smooth and unwrinkled. Elsa's back rested gracelessly against the hardwood headboard, her eyes closed and her chin dropped to her chest. She didn't drool— she wasn't as disastrous as Anna—, but her cold-white hair, pulled in her usual bun, was messy and uneven, with strands falling free of it. A book lay forgotten on her lap.

A smile broke out in Anna's face, her heart twisting with adoration as she took in the image of her sleep, carefree sister. She looked gorgeous, as she always did. She'd probably fallen asleep waiting for Anna to return. 

She decided to speak to her the following morning, as to not wake her up, but as soon as she turned around and opened the door, she heard shifting and ruffling.

"Anna," her sister's sweet, raspy, groggy voice called. "Hi."

Anna beamed. She spun around to see her.

"Hey," she greeted back, and took two steps towards the bed to kiss her white hair. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"Is it morning already?" Elsa asked, sounding adorably concerned. Anna laughed and sat on the mattress next to her.

"Oh, no, Elsie. I just got back from the party."

She brushed the loose strands of hair away to better see her face. Elsa yawned like a kitten, rubbing a hand over her eyes. Yes, like a sleeping kitten, doing that thing kittens do with their paws when they're sleepy. The simple gesture made Anna feel like she was falling in love all over again. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't stay up for you," Elsa said, in a tiny voice. Anna could no longer hold herself back, and she leaned down to kiss her lips. Of course, they'd kissed a lot in the past months. A  _ lot _ . But it never stopped feeling like her whole body was being set on fire. In a good way. Like giddy, explosive happiness seizing her heart. 

"I love you," Anna whispered, as soon as she pulled away. Elsa laughed, and oh, her laugh was so, so beautiful, like a bright white star or a chiming bell. One of her hands caressed Anna's cheek. 

“Did you have a fun day?” She asked, as she grasped one of Anna's arms and gently guided her closer, onto the bed.

"Mh..." Anna placed her head on her sister's shoulder and closed her eyes. A pair of delicate hands pulled at the green and yellow ribbons that held her bun together, and then a soft brush began to card through her hair, pulling at the roots in the most soothing way. Anna sighed contently at her sister’s ministrations.

“I gather then that the party was good,” Elsa assumed. "It left you tired."

“It was great,” Anna confirmed. She pulled away enough to sit with her back straight and her legs crossed, facing her sister. “I just wish you could have been there.”

“I watched from the window.”

Anna frowned.

“Oh, Elsa, but it’s so different from down there,” she argued. “I promise I’ll bring you along one day. We’ll take a walk on the port and we’ll hold hands and— and have picnics under a tree together! You’ll love it. I promise.”

Elsa laughed. She laughed so hard her eyes squinted with pure adoration as she held Anna’s face in her hands, bringing to her stomach a fluttering warmth like fallen leaves in the wind, like big, soft snowflakes.

Anna was beginning to believe Elsa’s true power was the power to make her feel like  _ this _ . Like she was loved beyond measure.

“You’re right. I’d love to,” she said, stroking her cheek. “We’ll do it some day. But in the meantime…” Her hands slid from Anna’s face to her shoulders and down the length of her arms, as if she couldn’t get enough of touching her  _ skin _ , until they reached her fingers and grasped them. "May you let me go for a moment?"

Anna frowned petulantly.

“But I wanted to cuddle you,” she said with a pout. In her experience, pouting was the quickest way to make Elsa laugh.

And it worked, as usual. Elsa chuckled, swept her head left and right, and carefully pulled Anna’s hair away from her face.

“Come on, Anna. It will only be a second."

“Can I kiss you first?”

She closed her eyes and puckered up her lips, like Snow White or the Sleeping Beauty waiting to be awoken by her True Love. It elicited an adorable giggle from Elsa’s part, which was soon followed by the feeling of her soft, cool lips on hers. Goodness, she was soft. How could someone be so  _ soft _ ? 

Much to Anna’s dismay, her big sister eventually pulled away, but rather than leaving her, she cuddled closer, almost in a fetal position next to her. When she twisted her neck and took a look, she found her staring, her pupils twitching as her eyes wandered down the slope of her nose, between each eye, and down to her lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Anna asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Her sister laughed.

“No, it’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

She shrugged playfully and averted her gaze.

“Oh, you know…” she teased.

_ Oh, great.  _

“Wait. Now you need to tell me,” Anna demanded.

“Tell you what?”

“You know what I’m talking about. What you’re thinking about,” she clarified, sitting up and glaring at her sister from above. “You need to tell me. Princess’ orders.”

“I’m not an ice harvester, Anna.”

“No, but you love me.”

“I do,” Elsa said, and her hand came up to lovingly caress Anna’s cheek. Anna’s eyes fluttered close, because  _ wow _ , that felt really nice, and she was beginning to feel a little bit sleepy. But she knew her sister well enough to know it was only another one of her schemes.

“Elsaaaaa…” she whined, trying to take a hold of her wrists. “You’re being  _ so  _ mean.”

"Stop!" Elsa shrieked, squirming away from Anna's hands and grasping her shoulders, to hold her at a distance. “Alright! I’ll tell you,” She finally yielded. “But I’m not that mean. I could be  _ meaner _ .”

“To your own sister?” Anna feigned surprise, with a hand over her chest.

“Okay, quit fooling around,” Elsa chided, as if Anna were the one who started it. However, she kept her mouth shut, not willing to miss a chance and let Elsa escape. She lied back down, only inches away from her on the mattress, to hear better. When Elsa finally deigned to answer, she explained: “It’s just that… sometimes I can’t believe what I have with you. I keep worrying I’m going to wake up, and this will all just be a dream.”

Anna’s brows furrowed.

“That isn’t happening.”

“I know. I know. But…”

“But?”

Elsa exhaled. The heels of her hands came up to press over her tired eyes. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Fine! Jeez, Anna,” she rolled her eyes, but still gave in. Her eyes looked away. Down. She timidly inched closer to Anna and, in a low voice, continued: “I suppose I just worry. What we have here feels almost too good to be true. You’re the most wonderful part of my life.”

Anna’s heart skipped a beat, and her breath hitched with the sudden onslaught of unadulterated love. She should be used to it at that point, but Elsa was…  _ Elsa _ , and Anna knew she felt the need to overcompensate for hiding for so long by not holding back a single act of affection. Unfortunately, Anna had never been great at regulating her reactions.

She gulped, swallowing back her embarrassment, pride and frustration, and replied to Elsa’s declaration:

“And you worry it won’t last.”

“I worry it will blow up on our faces,” Elsa clarified. “Sometimes I wonder what was I even thinking when I first kissed you.”

Anna’s shoulders deflated a little.

“Do you regret it?”

“No, no. Anna, no. I do not,” Elsa quickly reassured her, grasping her arms and squeezing. Her eyes looking up and her hand flying to stroke her cheek. “I love you, Anna. I truly do. And I admit I acted on impulse back then, but every day I make the same decision all over again, even if I have to think it over a bit more. There is  _ nothing  _ I regret.” She glanced to the side. "Not about what we have, at least."

Her words, like cool water washing over a burn, soothed the spark of worry in her little sister’s chest. Anna sighed, and playfully rolled her eyes.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“What?” Elsa asked, biting back a smirk. “You wouldn’t think I’d leave you, would you?”

“Would  _ you _ ?”

“Of course I wouldn’t!” 

She playfully pinched Anna’s cheek, eliciting a childish screech from her followed by her own mean big sister laughter. 

“Never?”

“Never!”

“Can I get another kiss, then?”

Elsa huffed, almost looking annoyed for a second, which meant Anna was doing her job as a younger sister correctly.

“You’re insatiable.”

Anna giggled, but then her sister leaned in to kiss her one more time— a goodnight kiss—, which as always spread a fluttering feeling through her chest and stomach, an impossible sense of warmth, closeness, safety that she could only find in Elsa’s arms, with her face cupped between her cool hands and her own arms holding her waist. So close to her sister, beneath a protective layer of blankets, she felt like they were the only two people in the world. Everything beyond the two of them vanished, and they could simply be themselves, be carefree and content. The mental picture of one of their parents barging in and seeing them was… unthinkable. Under Elsa’s touch, it seemed impossible.

They pulled away after a series of playful, shallow kisses, and Elsa, still holding her face between her hands, told her:

“I've got you something.”

Anna laughed, squeezing her waist.

“But I’ve already got you!”

“Well, now you’ll have something to remember me by when you’re in the city,” Elsa said, shaking Anna’s hands with enthusiasm, and with one final squeeze, she let go and strode towards the dressing room, where she disappeared behind the curtains. Anna only needed to wait for a moment before her sister returned with a wooden hanger in her hands, from which a heavy dress bag hung. Anna's heart was already overflowing with love and gratitude— for her sister, her wonderful big sister— when Elsa opened the bag. Inside was a dress, of beautiful dark  _ qiviut  _ and pale wool, brown and white. Almost as soft to the touch as Elsa’s skin, it was pretty and feminine, but not extravagant, and it drew its charm from its simplicity and coziness rather than from its adornments. Its white hem reached Anna mid-calf, and it was clearly intended to be worn with practical trousers and boots beneath. 

“Oh, Elsa…” Anna sighed, “It’s beautiful.”

Elsa smiled.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “It took me several attempts, but I had Mother’s help, and…”

“Wait,  _ you  _ made it?” Anna gasped, suddenly eyeing the knitwork more closely— each knot was softly and evenly chained to the following. Her eyes switched from the cloth, to Elsa, and back to the cloth again.

Elsa’s smile faltered, a faint blush spreading across her pale skin.

“I did,” she quietly admitted, but before she could even finish talking, her sister had stood up thrown her arms around her neck, had peppered her face with kisses, laughing and smiling like the big dumb idiot she was.

Oh, what had she done to deserve her? And to think she'd once dreamed of a Prince Charming! She didn't need a Prince Charming of any kind. She only needed her big sister.

Elsa helped her put it on, and Anna, who had never worn  _ qiviut  _ before, found it to be incredibly warm. Almost uncomfortably so, in the cozy palace, but it would be perfect for the subarctic winds of winter

Elsa buttoned up the dress at the back, and when she reached the nape of Anna’s neck, Anna turned around and took a step back, stretching her arms to her sides.

“How do I look?” She asked. Elsa smiled like she only did when Anna was around, and she made her feel the same way Anna did whenever Elsa stroked her cheek, or said that she loved her. Anna had doubts very early on in their relationship, yes, but it was obvious now, from just seeing Elsa smile— the spark in her eye— and the way it made her look her age and not twenty years older, that she was just as smitten as her. 

“You’re beautiful,” Elsa said. “Now take it off, before you sweat all over it.”

Anna smirked, shaking her head, and playfully dared Elsa to take it off herself. It was only a joke— the kind of joke she’d learned on the docks— and Elsa rolled her eyes, laughed along with her, teased her, and chased her around the room for the rest of the night, like they did when they were children. After all, the night was young and they had all the time in the world.

The knocks on the door, as they usually did, woke Elsa before they woke Anna.

Which was a blessing, because the few times Anna had risen earlier, she’d found it impossible to get Elsa up, claiming she 'looked too cute while sleeping,' and it proved a complication when she had to give the maids at the other side of the door an explanation as to why two grown sisters would share a bed with so much room in the palace. 

If forced to, Elsa would admit that yes, Anna did, in fact, look too cute while sleeping to be woken up, but she wanted to think her reasons for discretion were a bit more practical. Specifically, the need to explain Anna’s absence remained, should the palace staff be looking for her after not finding her in her bedchamber. It was something Elsa believed herself to be better equipped to handle.

On some occasions, she was more right than on others, and such was this one in particular when she slipped from the bed and opened the door to find Father himself standing on the other side.

She squashed the tiny flicker of anger like a swollen, juicy leech under her boot. 

“Good morning, Elsa,” he said, in a formal, stiff tone. “Could Anna happen to have spent the night with you?”

Of course, he’d come to take Anna. Elsa’s mind recalled the events of the last night in the blink of an eye. Oh, how quickly time passed, and how short were the hours they could spend at their safe haven. 

“Good morning, Father,” she replied curtly. “Yes, Anna happens to be with me. She will probably sleep for a little longer.”

“Breakfast is waiting for her. Would you wake her up?”

The most petulant side of Elsa wanted to remark Anna should be the one to decide what and when to eat on the day following her birthday, but it was a ridiculous claim to make. It was only breakfast, and Elsa’s absurd frustrations shouldn’t get in the way of reason. 

“I will.”

Father inhaled sharply, without thanks nor refusal, and Elsa’s first instinct was to back away but against her better judgment she held her place, with a hand on the doorframe between him and her room.

“Huh.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not wearing gloves.”

Elsa’s eyes widened, and the frost immediately began to spread from the tips of her fingers. It was like blinking. Like breathing. Everything was easier until you remembered you were doing it. 

She held her hand to her chest.

“Did Anna recommend you take them off?”

“She did,” Elsa replied, and did not elaborate. Father waited for her following statement, with his expectant look, but after a few seconds, he gave in and accepted defeat.

“Thank you,” he said. “Please, tell her I need to have a word with her soon.”

Elsa’s mouth curled into a grimace.

“What do you need to tell her?”

“That is our business, Elsa.”

"Then I hope it does not concern me."

“It will be short. A few minutes at most.”

Elsa held back a tired sigh. She wouldn’t disrespect her father, but he was getting on her nerves. 

“I will tell her.”

“I would greatly appreciate that.”

He gave her a polite nod and Elsa bid him goodbye with a curtsy, before shutting the door. From the spot where her hand pressed against the wood, frost grew and seeped in the crack between the door and the wall, weakly attempting to seal it. She tore herself away and took a deep breath, holding her hands together and close to her heart.

On the bed, Anna still snored. Elsa hadn’t had the time to admire her before but now that she did, she could appreciate the way her hair stuck out in different directions, held up by the static of the sheets, as a string of drool leaked from her mouth and directly on Elsa’s pillow, which she now gripped in her arms upon the absence of Elsa herself. 

Goodness, she was perfect.

Easily as that, by simply existing near her, Anna could bring back all of Elsa’s strength. With her ice back under control, Elsa climbed onto the bed, to hover over Anna and brush her hair to the side. She wanted to better see her face.

She wiped away the drool from Anna’s chin with her thumb, as gross as it was. Her sister needed to be  _ clean _ . Especially if she insisted on kissing her upon waking up, as she did so often.

She better wake her up and come up with a good excuse for Father, because she intended to take her time with her.

Breakfast was good.  _ Really  _ good. It hadn't been as robust or flavorful as her birthday's meals but surprisingly, she'd convinced Mother to let Elsa eat with them, which was strange because she hadn't allowed this the day before, but Anna would take it. Maybe she was simply beginning to come to terms with the fact that her kids weren't kids.

She insisted Elsa sat next to her, and held her hand under the table when she was sure their parents weren’t looking. Elsa, who on any other day would have insisted on the need of being cautious, let her take as many risks as she pleased. She didn’t want to reject her in any shape or form. 

But her happiness was obscured once the door to Father’s studio was shut behind her. He stood by the window, facing his kingdom across the glass, and did not turn until his daughter cleared her throat and announced her presence.

“Father, uh… hi,” she said. “Did you want to see me?” 

He turned around, and gave her a pensive look, and then pulled back the chair behind his desk and took a seat.

“I did, indeed,” he said. “Please, sit down, Anna.”

Anna complied without protest. She was thankful she’d pulled her hair up as soon as she left the bed, because Father was speaking in a very formal tone, and it would be  _ super  _ embarrassing to discuss official matters with the King in pigtails.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep it short,” Father reassured her, shooting her a quick smile. “First off, I wished to ask you how you spent your birthday. Are you feeling any older yet?"

A playful glint in his eye allowed Anna's muscles to relax. 

"Oh! um..." Anna held her hands behind her back and rocked herself on the balls of her feet. "You know. A little bit."

Father chuckled. Anna felt her own mouth curl into a smile.

"I know what you mean," he said. "I wanted to apologize for getting angry last night. It's a good thing that you've earned the people's love. I'm proud of you."

"You are?"

"I am," he confirmed with a nod. "The more time passes, the more I understand we should have opened the gates to you sooner. I hadn't seen our family this happy since before the accident. All thanks to you."

"Oh, it's not..." Anna made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "It wasn't all me, you know. I think Elsa deserves more credit than I do, actually. She's the one putting all of the effort."

"Both you and your sister have been doing an excellent job. I can't express my satisfaction with the way things currently are. You're both growing more and more confident. Soon, you'll be ready to take on more responsabilities."

Anna swallowed. She opened her mouth to ask a question.

“But before that,” Father raised a hand, effectively cutting her off. “I need to ask you a special favor.”

“What is it?”

He folded his hands on top of the desk. His factions adopted a more serious demeanor.

“It’s about your sister,” he said. “A little more than a year ago, you were first summoned to the library and entrusted, alongside your mother and I, with the duty of protecting this family secret. Excluding you and keeping you in the dark for so long has brought a lot of grief to all of us, and I want to apologize. For everything.”

Anna blinked. She tried to predict where this could possibly be leading up to, but she was unable to come up with a believable explanation.

“Oh, Well,” she nodded. “Thank you. I’m not mad or anything, you know? There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“There is, Anna,” Father argued. “And I hope that one day, you can forgive us.” Anna opened her mouth to claim she already did, but Father once again raised a hand to ask for her silence. “When you were fifteen, we came to the understanding that you were mature enough to know the truth, and to join us as our daughter and as a member of our family on the hardships and charges that were assigned to us. It was not something we could face as a fractured house.” He exhaled heavily. “This is why I’m requesting this from you today. As members of the Royal Family, we have a duty to our people, so whenever you're ready, whenever you can make an arrangement with your sister, I need you to sit at our council table to discuss a preemptive strike on the Weseltean fleet.

Anna’s stomach dropped. Oh, no. He certainly couldn’t be asking this from them.

Panic caught up with her a second too late and she needed to hold it back from her wavering voice.

“Are… are we at war with Weselton?” She asked.

“No,” Father swiftly replied. “Not if I can navigate negotiations with the Grand Duke, but after long-thought consideration, I’ve come to the conclusion this is a step we need to take if we are to keep the people of Arendelle safe.”

Anna inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Inhaled.

“You think they may attack soon?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Anna, there is nothing you should worry about,” he said as he stood up, but to Anna, his words sounded like nothing but hypocrisy. “All I ask is that you think of your kingdom. No one needs to get hurt as long as you are careful. Not even Weseltean sailors.”

Anna knew— she _knew_ — why Father was asking _her_ rather than one of the Royal Navy’s admirals — why he took the risk to attack _now_ that his family was happy and satisfied. Still, she refused to believe it, because for the past year he’d gone to the extremes to argue in favor of suppression and control, but _this_ … this was anything but. It was everything he always said he feared.

So she played dumb, half-hoping she was understanding things wrong and half desperate to hear him say it, to stop being a coward and say it to her face.

“I wouldn’t know how to do that,” she replied. “I'm not an admiral. Besides, wouldn’t it look like a declaration of war?”

She could see his jaw grow tense.

“Anna,” he said. “You and I both know that isn’t what I’m asking for.”

“Then what  _ are  _ you asking for?”

“Do not play dumb with me.”

“No, say it!” Anna kicked the chair back and stood up. “What  _ are  _ you asking me to do? What do you— I can’t have Elsa freeze the whole fleet! After so many years of telling her to conceal it, you suddenly change your mind just because... because you  _ want  _ her magic?”

“Anna…”

He reached a hand forward to place it on her shoulder, but she backed away from him.

“No! Don’t touch me!” She cried. “Elsa isn’t dangerous. She isn’t a  _ weapon _ . I can tell you’re desperate, Father, I really do. But she’s your daughter! And… I’m… I’m not a lion tamer! I can’t just tell her to perform a trick or… or something! And you  _ know  _ she’s terrified of hurting people. She would never agree to something like that.”

“That is why I’m speaking to you, and not her,” Father argued. “I’m afraid she no longer trusts me. Her loyalties lie entirely on you.”

“First off, that isn’t true,” Anna countered. “And… and second, no. I’m— I’m not doing that. And Elsa isn’t doing that, even if I agreed with you. So… no.”

She squared up her shoulder, like a knight, like a Queen, standing up before the King with his pointy crown and his wide shoulders, wider than her. He was stronger than her and he’d have a sword at his hand with one word to the guards, who stood at the other side of the door and were loyal to  _ him _ . And Anna had heard him claim he would no longer consider what his father would have considered, but in the light of his studio, he resembled a very old portrait it had long ago been last seen, half-hidden by heavy curtains of grief, treason and fear, much like the fear in her mother’s eyes and in her sister’s eyes, and Anna had always stubbornly refused to feel fear, but in the way her own Father stood, so tall and mighty before her, her resolve faltered, and she cowered away, shoulders hunching and frame flinching, like the child she was.

She breathed deeply, and her diaphragm and lungs needed more strength than they’d ever needed before, but she gathered her courage from the memory of Elsa’s smiles and her nimble fingers and lips and her snow-white hair atop her chest, as she laid with one ear over her heart.

“No,” Anna repeated, and then she stormed off before anyone could stop her. No more words needed to be exchanged between her and the King.

In winter, when the wound of betrayal had grown numb but hadn’t quite healed, Father sent his Queen on a mission. He didn’t phrase it that way— he used words like ‘teamwork’ and ‘covering more ground together’, but Mother had fallen into this position alone when Father could have stood with her, and that hadn’t been accidental. Negotiations with Weselton were imperative, and Mother knew how to wear a mask much better than Father did, and so she’d have to travel and meet the Grand Duke at the border, as Father could not strike any more favorable agreements. The Grand Duke refused to set foot on Arendelle and the Royal Family refused to set foot on Weselton. Or at least Father did. Anna didn’t have strong opinions in the subject matter— all she knew was that she wanted her people to be safe—, but still, she found herself on a ship with her mother soon after the announcement, sailing towards the maritime boundary between the two countries. 

Anna had wanted to go as soon as Father mentioned sailing. She’d never left Arendelle before, and she’d love to aid her mother in anything she might need, whether it was negotiation, espionage, or tea-making. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized she’d miss Elsa terribly, and although she tried to change her mind over and over again, Elsa managed to convince her between kisses and strokes of her brush on her hair. 

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured her, rubbing her arms up and down. “Go out there and tell me what it’s like.”

“Don’t you want to come with us?” Anna asked, twisting her neck and looking at her sister. “You know, I think you’re ready to leave the palace.”

Elsa smiled, with both sadness and adoration behind her eyes.

“I don’t feel ready,” she admitted, and she set the brush aside to tilt Anna's head up kiss her forehead. “But when I am, I promise I’ll go with you.”

It made no sense to her— Elsa had become so good at controlling her powers over the years—, yet her big sister was even more stubborn than she was, and after a million and one reassurances, Anna finally agreed to leave on a week-long diplomatic trip with Mother. They hugged until they ran out of hugs, and then Elsa buttoned up Anna’s  _ qiviut  _ dress, cupped her face in her bare hand, and bid her goodbye with one final kiss.

The ocean was… It was like a breathing, living mammal rocking her child’s crib, a sea-dragon, something incredibly wild and ancient that could not be tamed, only lived in, and the men of the crew pulled the ropes and hoisted the sails to make the most out of what the wind offered them. Anna’s feet and heart pounded wildly she sprinted down the deck, in perfect balance with the sway of the sea, as if an instinctual part of her could always tell when and how the ship would dip and rise. The winds hitting her face were the coldest ones to have ever tangled up her hair, numbed her skin, numbed the tips of her red fingers, which she could barely close or move when they weren’t stuffed in the pockets of her dress. They were harsh and loud, whistling between the masts and ropes and sails, and roaring in her ears. They attacked her like claws on a dragon wing, a heavy strength pushing against her. Anna had never felt more alive. She wished she could capture in a glass jar or a bottle a little gust of the cold ocean wind, a little bit of the seaweed smell, the old wood smell, the sweat smell, the sound of crashing waves and the sound of her unstoppable beating heart, so that once she returned to Elsa, she could uncork it and release the fjord inside her room, to bring all of this to her sister and lover and share with her what she’d been denied for so long. 

She missed her sister, and she missed her terribly. Knowing she was locked away in stone, alone, unable to feel the wind, became more and more painful the more ocean air entered Anna’s lungs. But she eventually understood that the longing did not need to tarnish the thrill of the waves, the rocking of the ship, the creaking of the wood beneath her boots, the wind and the smell of salt. Everything seemed to remind her of her sister— the clear blue sky, the color of her eyes, the dark ocean waves, the color of her dress—, and the pull at her heartstrings was as painful as it was pleasant. She’d memorize everything, for Elsa’s sake, and then she’d bring it back to her in the form of words. 

So she tried to climb up the shrouds, like she saw some crew members do, and she tried to touch the seagulls that flew closest to the ship. She spoke with every single man in the frigate, learned the names of all of them, and spent hours on board listening to their stories. Some sought to feed their families. Some were running from them. Some were running from something else.

And Mother? Mother was a puzzle. She looked so at ease with the men of the crew— she spoke with the captain the most—, yet she could not wipe away this strange sadness from her eyes. When Anna spoke to her, she said:

“I’m just thinking about the last time I set foot on this ship.”

Anna could recall— Mother and Father had arrived with the best news she’d received in her life. She still wondered what it was that they saw in the sea, but neither could ever give her a straight answer.

They arrived at sunset. Anna could feel the cold before she saw it— and she gripped her dress, crossed her arms around her body, and silently thanked Elsa for her thoughtful gift, which allowed her to experience such a sublime sight, and stand on the ship deck before the immense wall of ice that extended to her left, descending like a white river from between the mountains of the Arenfjord. It stole her breath away, the cutting cold, the magnificence, the golden sunlight caught on the tips above, at the top, while their ship peacefully glided across its cold shadow. It was long, tall and elegant, so distant yet so close— its icebergs played around the ship like children—, with the bluest blue in every crack and a height so impossibly extreme, Anna needed to crank her neck up to see its golden end, and she still struggled. If you asked her, she’d say it went on forever, until it reached the pale blue sky. It had rough, sharp edges, but also plains of soft, smooth ice. And being near it was so,  _ so  _ cold, but so thrilling, too, and Anna wanted nothing more than to steer the ship even closer— dangerously so, until the ice that broke from its surface could kill them— just to see her reflection on it.

Mother laughed quietly behind her.

“Do you like it?” She asked.

Anna’s jaw hung open. She had no words to describe what standing before this sleeping giant did to her. 

Mother placed a hand on her shoulder.

“This is the Arensfjordjøkelen,” she explained, and with humor, she added: “Wait until you see the glaciers further north.”

Anna’s eyes snapped to her mother.

“There are  _ bigger _ ?” She gasped. Mother laughed again.

“I’ll bring you to them one day,” she promised. Anna’s human mind could not picture the image of something larger than the Arensfjordjøkelen. She wished she could take a splinter of ice and put it in her pocket, to show Elsa and tell her “I saw something that reminded me of you out there”.

Her eyes switched from one end of the glacier to the other. It was quite narrow— probably less than one kilometer wide—, and she could see both ends from where they waited. North of the glacier, Arendelle awaited. South of the glacier, was Weselton, nor nearly as far away as she thought it’d be.

Mother breathed in deeply. Exhaled. Her breath quickened as if she was getting ready to jump off a cliff but did not have the courage to do so. Anna glanced at her, slightly concerned, but before she could ask her mother if she was alright, she added:

“Before Old Àrnadarl,” she said in a very quiet voice. “We used to call it  _ Máttavuonjiehkki." _

Anna’s eyes opened wide, wider than before, even, as the confession— confirmation— dawned on her. 

“What?” She all but gasped, only a timid noise that Mother might not have even heard, but as soon as it left her throat, the sirens broke the silence, and everyone raised their heads to watch the approaching columns of smoke crossing the fjord from the south. 

The Grand Duke’s industrial yacht was accompanied by two frigates— steamships—, and the ships alone made Anna suddenly hyper-aware of the simple sails of their single boat. Their canons seemed outdated compared to the industrial machinery of the Weseltean convoy.

She gulped. She’d have to ask Mother questions later, because there were more urgent matters to attend to. She stood by the Queen, tall and proud, to welcome the Grand Duke when the gangplank was laid between the ships and he strolled onto their deck. He was a little man, shorter than Anna, but he wore a general’s uniform and that alone put her on edge. She and Mother wore soft wool dresses and only a few Arendellian guards were on board. A simple glance at the deck of the opposite ship revealed they were outnumbered three to one.

“Your Majesty,” the Grand Duke said, with an extravagant bow. 

“Your Grace,” Mother replied. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Queen of Arendelle. Shall we discuss the matter at hand now?”

He moved to the side, open arms gesturing at the clear way across the gangplank. Anna’s heart stuttered a bit.

“You’re… going into his ship?” Anna murmured, thinking she’d been quiet enough for Mother alone to hear, but then the Grand Duke’s eyes fixed on her, and her blood froze over.

“Is this the Princess?” He inquired.

“My daughter, Anna,” Mother confirmed. “She decided to come along.”

“Ah, a curious youth, I see,” he commented. “Indeed, your Highness, your mother is coming with me.”

The way he phrased it sent the alarm bells ringing in Anna’s head. She quickly looked at her mother for clarification.

“It will only be a moment,” she explained. “Stay here.”

With those final words, Mother accompanied the Grand Duke down the gangplank and into his steam yacht, while Anna stood on their frigate deck to watch them leave. Oh, she had a terrible feeling about all of this, but she was powerless, and all she could do was to observe the glacier, miss her sister, and wait.

Elsa had grown… she’d grown quite accustomed to having Anna by her side. One would think it would be easy to spend two weeks without her— she enjoyed her solitude and her studies, after all, and had already spent ten years apart—, but she had to admit she was dealing with it less than stellarly, which was quite embarrassing of her. She would be Queen one day, and Anna wouldn’t be at her side forever. It was something she hated to think about, but it was a reality, and if she dealt with her eventual farewell in such a deplorable way as she did with her short absence now, the kingdom would end up in shambles thanks to her incompetence.

She spoke to Father a few times. Or rather, she'd tried, but they were both awkward and closed off— she often found herself with nothing to say, and he cared for little other than his duty as King—, and when one of them managed to breach the wall, frustrations surged, like wet, squirming little leeches she needed to crush with the heel of her shoe. She shut her mouth and let him speak about her and Anna’s progress, and repeated inside her head over and over again their old mantra—  _ conceal— _ , but it was only fuel to the fire, because if Anna had proven anything, it was that she needn’t ‘conceal’, she needn’t hurt her family in one way or the other— they could simply be happy together, yet Father wouldn’t have that, it seemed. No, he put gloves on her, instead, and she knew he was lost, desperate and doing his best, and yet… and yet he still pushed Anna beyond her limits when she was ill (so long, so long ago, yet not long ago at all), pushed her beyond her limits when she was a  _ child _ . And perhaps she was only angry on Anna’s behalf, perhaps that was the excuse she told herself to resent her loving, sacrificing parents. 

But she simply didn’t feel at ease with him anymore. He was a nobleman, a politician, and she felt like she should treat him as such. Perhaps, one day, they could work on recovering what was lost, mend that small, gaping wound in her heart — the bedtime stories, the  _ hnefatafl  _ games—, but that  _ itch _ , that  _ leech  _ wouldn’t give her rest. She feared that by trying to get closer, she might end up hating him, and so she took some distance. 

She enjoyed reading, knitting, and embroidering, but she had little more to do behind the walls of the palace, which was concerning, because this boredom proved that Anna had for years distracted her from the realization that she had no life beyond her relationship with her sister and the eternal wait to become Queen— dear Father’s death—, and when the moment came, she’d simply repeat Father’s work until the end of her days.

It was… worrisome, to say the least, and while she missed Anna, she thanked the quietness and silence that allowed her to come to this new understanding. 

Understanding led to sadness, which led to more boredom. She rarely read or knit. A young, new maid offered to accompany her on a stroll through the palace, but Elsa politely declined— only her family was allowed to do so, under orders of the King. These past days, she just looked out the window like an old house cat waiting to die, observing from afar the people of Arendelle buying and selling products in the market, taking care of the ships on port and strolling about with their children and spouses, with their animals, some carrying faculty books and others holding stacks of woolen tissue or seal meat. 

And Elsa? Elsa would live her whole life in the palace. Locked away in stone.

She couldn’t even find comfort in the thought of seeing Anna soon, because the problem would remain even when she came back. Even when Elsa grew brave and walked past the gates. Even when she became Queen.  _ Especially  _ when she became Queen. 

She’d been born to die in her palace, after all.

The days following Anna’s departure were beneficial to her, in the end. It was a distance she didn’t know she needed, and it allowed her to see things more clearly. One day, exhausted from choking on her boredom and knowing Anna wouldn’t want her to waste away in loneliness, she decided to explore the palace. She'd visited every room, every crack and nook with her sister many times before, of course, but much like the picture of her life, she wanted to see if anything changed under the light of her solitude, where she could think about something other than Anna’s hands and laughter and hips. She climbed up to the attic, where she ransacked through old family heirlooms, observed the guards train in the courtyard, wordlessly assisted her father with his paperwork in his studio, and spoke to the cooks in the kitchen. The silence certainly set a different pace to every exchange that took place. It was different, and not unwelcomely so. Elsa decided it would be nice to make a routine out of this in the morning, before Anna woke up. And although she missed the precious girl sleeping next to her every night— missed her terribly and couldn’t wait to hold her again—, she didn’t cry over her departure. Anna would come back, eventually, and in the meantime, Elsa would take her time and think.

She visited the portrait room one day, and she came face to face with a tall man of broad shoulders, red hair, and green eyes, so much like her father’s and her sister’s, with so much strength and determination in him, that Elsa felt small. The King of the notched pieces looked down on the bare pieces, on the one who could not fight— frightened, trapped in the castle— the bare pieces around her jumped in between the two, even though they could get hurt themselves, they could be hurt because of her— and she was captured, in the end, as she always was. She might have her magic but in reality, she had no arms to fight. The King drew his sword— built his stake for the witch. The King held a sword in the portrait. 

The Northuldra killed him with magic, and if Anna’s hypothesis about their heritage was right, then Elsa did not know how to feel.

An unjustifiable dread overcame her, like water filling her lungs. She inhaled sharply and took a step away. Tripped. She stumbled out of the portrait room and decided to never visit it again.

She wasn’t sure what compelled her to visit the stables one morning, because they smelled terrible, and she was not a big fan of animals (especially dirty ones, like horses), but she was running out of places to visit, and she figured it wouldn’t hurt to check on it. Imagine her surprise when the first animal she found was not a horse, but a reindeer. A big, smelly reindeer with antlers long and sharp, and a young man by its side that groomed its fur with a soft-bristled brush. 

“Oh,” he said upon seeing her, and it took Elsa a moment to remember his name. “Good afternoon, huh, your Highness.”

“Good afternoon, Kristoff,” she replied. When she didn’t add any more words, he awkwardly returned to brushing his animal's fur. The strange man didn’t seem very interested in striking a conversation (or perhaps he was just as awkward as her), so they stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment, until he produced a bucket with carrots in it, fed his reindeer half of one, and then, to Elsa’s absolute horror, bit down on the remaining half of the reindeer-drooled root.

Her brain shut down. She stared at the man— Kristoff— chewing on… what he’d just eaten, with eyes wide and jaw slack.

“Sorry,” Kristoff sputtered, and then he  _ pointed  _ the half-eaten carrot at Elsa. “You want some?”

Her right eye twitched. It took her a moment to regain control of her mouth.

“No. Thank you,” she replied, trying to keep a straight face even though her stomach was stirring at the mere idea.

Kristoff shrugged, and with one big bite, munched the rest of the root before offering the stem at his reindeer.

“You know, you might look the same, but I don’t think your sister and you are anything alike.”

At the mention of her little sister, Elsa could manage a chuckle.

“I apologize,” she said. “My sister has always had a better way with people.”

“Uh, yeah, well, I’ve noticed,” Kristoff commented. “She made me dance with her on her birthday, in front of everyone. I’ve never done that for anyone before.”

The mental image of Anna happily dancing with this young man in the middle of the city square, far from making her jealous, brought a smile to Elsa’s lips. 

“Anna has that effect on people,” she agreed. “I heard the people of Arendelle truly love her.”

“Well, she listens to us. For the gates to be closed and have someone suddenly come out when no one had seen the King in years…”

Elsa’s gaze landed on the reindeer’s greasy fur. Of course. The gates were closed.

“She’s a good friend, too,” Kristoff continued. “By the way, do you know why she left? People have been wondering.”

“Oh, she’s… she’s accompanying our mother in a diplomatic mission. She should be back by the end of the week,” Elsa explained.

“Oh. Oh, yeah. that’s… that’s good to hear,” mumbled Kristoff, his eyes squinting as he struggled with the knots on the reindeer's fur. He continued to wordlessly lift clouds of dust from its fur with every stroke. Noting Elsa was staring, he asked: “Wanna help?”

Elsa inhaled sharply. Her eyes drifted over to the brush in Kristoff’s hand. She was ready to say no, but then the reindeer turned to her and gave her big puppy eyes that made her feel under pressure and risk of judgment should she refuse, so she forced a tight-lipped smile and hesitantly took the tool from the man's hand. 

Kristoff showed her how to do it, and she began to slowly card the brush through the dirty animal’s fur, hoping to not lift clouds of dust yet failing. She’d have to change her dress once she was done, but she was thankful she’d decided to wear gloves that day, just in case. She knew her sister didn’t like it, but Anna, bless her soul, was not inside her head, and Elsa wouldn’t avoid doing everything Anna disliked if she herself disagreed. This time, her disagreement proved a blessing, because this animal was truly dirty— had it rolled in the mud?—, and it took a while for her and Kristoff to finish, and she was there until the end, because she didn’t know how to leave without coming off as impolite. In the meantime, they conversed.

“Anna talks a lot about you, you know,” Kristoff casually commented. “She really does love you.”

A warm, pleasant feeling spread across Elsa’s chest. Oh, sweet, precious Anna.

“I love her, too,” she couldn’t help but reply. “I wonder what I did to deserve her.”

Kristoff snorted.

“Believe it or not, half of Arendelle is wondering the same thing.”

“I believe it,” Elsa declared, without a doubt.

“News of her have even reached my family,” Kristoff added. “They’ve been asking me when I’ll bring her home for dinner.”

Oh. Thinking of Anna dancing with her friend didn’t awaken anything in her, but these implications… they sparked a strange, frustrating feeling.

“Do you have feelings for my sister?” She asked, perhaps not as discreetly as she would have liked. Of course, Anna would have to find a husband one day, and so did she. Of course, this could never last. Of course, she’d lose her one day, and this young man looked like a good person to lose her too. A good match, for a princess of the people, truly. 

“God, no!” Kristoff gagged, as if the idea repulsed him, and the most selfish part of Elsa sighed in relief. “Uh, I mean…” Kristoff stammered. “She’s… she’s great. Everyone loves her. But… She isn’t... I don't have feelings for her.”

Elsa’s shoulders slackened as tension abandoned her, and she hated herself for it. She’d need to let Anna go one day. She knew this. She knew this and still stubbornly resisted reality to cling to this impossible love.

The part of her that wasn’t selfish knew it was wrong. And still, she couldn’t bring herself to stop.  _ Not yet, _ she told herself.  _ Just for a little bit longer. _

“I understand, Kristoff.” She did not. She didn’t understand how anyone could not want to hold Anna in their arms forever. The distance suddenly grew more painful. 

“Oh. Good,” he blurted. Seemingly desperate to change the topic, he added: “You’re eighteen, right?”

“I’m twenty.”

“Getting suitors already?” He asked. “Not because I’m interested or anything, you know. Just curious.”

Observing him curiously, Elsa fabricated an awkward chuckle.

“Not really, “ she said. “Not yet. But the process may begin soon.”

And then she’d lose her sister.

“Good luck with that,” Kristoff chuckled. “My family... They've been trying to set me up with— with people, ever since I turned eighteen. I know it’s probably not the same, but if they’re half as annoying as my Ma is…”

Elsa looked away, this time observing the reindeer’s antlers.

“Do you ever fear disappointing them?” She asked.

“My family? Not really. I know I won’t.”

Elsa nodded in silence. It was difficult to picture a family in which disappointment did not exist, in which there was no legacy or bloodline to tarnish. Everything she had that was worth her father’s pride felt like a lie. A mask. Inside of her, she had wicked magic, foreign blood, and an unjustifiable adoration for her sister. And deeper down, she had something she was too scared to tap into— a swarm of squirming tadpoles she kept crushing to death, because Father did not deserve her ungratefulness, but they continued to reproduce. A perverse orgy of evil thoughts. 

And she’d have to become Queen of Arendelle one day. She could not carry her wickedness to the throne with her. It was something she’d need to extinguish in one way or another, until she forgot about the mask. Until it became her nature.

Anna would hate her— so, so much, she’d hate her so much—, but perhaps that would make losing it all easier, in the end. She dreaded even thinking about it.

Anna returned soon, and the first thing she did upon setting foot on Arendelle was to race into the palace, tripping on the stairs, and burst into Elsa’s room. No knocking at all. She was sick of knocking and she needed to kiss her sister, like,  _ right now _ . 

Elsa read by the fire, on her couch, but she dropped the book as soon as she heard the door open, and the smile that formed on her face brought back the feeling of the golden sun, the feeling of the cold ocean wind, and the feeling of old laughter all on its own.

“Hey,” Elsa said, rising to her feet. “How was— wait!”

Anna didn’t want to wait. Anna wanted to hold her waist and spin her around like a young girl in love. So she did just that, cutting Elsa off mid-sentence with a surprised yelp followed by shared laughter. Oh, how Anna had missed her, how happy she was to see her again, back in her arms.

Her big sister was lighter than she thought she’d be but still dropped her eventually, keeping her arms around her waist while Elsa held onto her shoulders for leverage. The closeness— Elsa’s naked hands desperately clutching her clothes— sent her heart racing.

She kissed her. Kisses first, talking later. Just a quick, chaste one. Or maybe more than one. Her sister’s lips were so,  _ so  _ soft, docile and welcoming, and Anna could kiss her forever. She just hoped Elsa hadn’t noticed the goosebumps, but her hand had migrated to Anna’s cheek, so she must be doing things right.

“I missed you,” Elsa said, as soon Anna gave her a moment to breathe. Emotion seized Anna in the moment.

"Oh, Elsa..." she sighed, throwing her arms around her neck. Her sister's body pressed so tightly against her own was the most delightful feeling, especially when Elsa's cool hands snaked around her waist and came up to press against her shoulder blades. "I missed you, too."

Elsa squeezed her one more time before pulling away, still gently grasping onto Anna's arms.

"How was the trip?" She asked, rubbing her hands up and down. Anna grinned.

"It was incredible," she gushed, seizing Elsa's hands in her own. "Oh, Elsa, you won’t believe what it was like.” She softly pulled her towards the bed. “But first, you tell me. How— how were you this past week? Did anything happen?”

Elsa hesitated for a moment.

“Some things happened,” she admitted. “Come here. Lay down with me.”

They sat together over the covers. Elsa's knees were pressed together and her legs dangled down the edge of the mattress, while Anna pulled up her skirt to sit cross-legged against the headboard. One of her hands still played with Elsa's fingers in the space between them. The covers were  _ really really  _ soft, she noticed. The sun would be setting soon, and Anna thought, yeah, a nap later wouldn’t hurt. 

“I met Kristoff while you were gone,” Elsa commented.

“You did?”

“Yeah. I ended up helping him with his reindeer.”

Anna's eyebrows shot up.

“You? With Sven?”

Elsa made an amused expression.

“I’m not as irritated by animals as you think.”

“You’re not?”

To her great surprise and indignation, Elsa tossed a pillow at her face.

“No, I’m not. Now, tell me about your trip.”

Anna grinned, and she gave her a full recap of the events since leaving the port. She described with all the words she knew about the sway of the sea, the cold of the wind, and the way the sunlight caught in the crest of the glacier. She described, even, the Weseltean ships and their technology, doing her best to keep the worry out of her voice. She skipped only one thing, which was Mother’s confession. She’d tell her later, hopefully when Mother was present. All she wanted to do at the moment was to lie down with her sister, snuggle in her warm embrace and forget about Weselton, forget about Father and his outrageous requests, and about Minka Gáhppásdatter, and the stake she’d heard they’d built for her. 

The following days were filled with the sweet sunlight Anna brought to everyone’s lives, as she held Elsa’s hand and dragged her all around the castle like she did when they were children. They visited the stables more than once, where Kristoff waited for them (mostly for Anna, to be sincere, but he’d always been polite and civil towards Elsa regardless), and when Anna finally offered some mercy to her older sister, they left for the kitchens, or the library, or even the attic. Elsa loved her sister, and loved being with her— Anna was not the problem—, but she was beginning to feel... suffocated.

Smothered by these stone walls around her. She kept seeing the same old rooms, the same hallways, the same people and the same sights she'd been exploring ever since she was born. She was running out of books to read and wool to knit. And Anna, dear, sweet Anna, always had  _ something else _ to do in town, someone out there wanting to speak to her, some other project to work on, always, always something Elsa painfully lacked. All she had were her studies and her Father’s ever-waiting crown. 

She wanted to see what Anna described— the sea, the glaciers, the wind. 

But she could not, and it was time she learned to accept it. The furthest she ever dared to go was when one winter, she left her room without her sister to accompany her, to go into the library and open the balcony doors. She'd never had the courage to do so before, but she did now, out of desperation— asphyxiation—, to breathe.

She pushed open the double glass doors with her bare, trembling hands. 

The cool evening breeze was soft but it frightened her, almost, with how strange it felt. Or perhaps fright was not the word. ‘Thrill’ sounded more appropriate. Yes, ‘thrill’, and a racing heart, so different and so new. 

She placed her hands on the wooden railing and breathed in the cold, clean air. Far below, she could see her Arendelle and its people, going about their lives. Anna was among them, somewhere. Like a child, Elsa beamed, excited, thinking about how she’d tell Anna she left her room alone and opened the library's windows. She’d  _ stepped out _ , and when she raised her head, she saw the lilac sky above her head. She couldn’t wait to see the stars without glass separating them. It was incredible to think that between her and the sky, there was nothing but distance. 

And still… it wasn’t enough. 

It was dumb to believe it would satiate her hunger, but she hoped it would… calm it, somehow. 

Brimming with disappointment, she trudged back to her room down the silent corridor. The silence was no longer a comfortable quietness to think. It was stifling. Dense and heavy. 

It was then that she heard the arguing coming from her parent’s room. They were shouting, and they were shouting  _ loudly _ , louder than she’d ever heard them speak before, and it was alarming. Just before turning around the corner, she heard the door open, and the previously muffled voices of her parents suddenly came to life. 

Elsa stood still and closed her fists, lest her magic came out. She should have worn gloves. She shouldn’t have left her room alone.

“I’m done here.”

“Agnarr, do not walk away from me!”

“I’m done!” He shouted, shutting Mother up and making Elsa flinch. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands, painfully. 

“But  _ I _ am not!” Mother countered. “How could you suggest such a thing? What were you thinking!?”

“I’m thinking about the future of Arendelle!” Father barked. “Something you’ve stopped doing a long time ago.”

“That isn’t true, Agnarr.”

“Is this about the woodworker?” He accused. “Tell me one thing, Iduna. Did my people acting in self-defense sway your loyalties?”

“Don’t.”

_ “Elsa, I think Mama is Northuldra.” _

“Are you accusing me of treason over...  _ this _ ?” Mother questioned.

“I’m saying that after what your people have done, after you brought  _ this  _ to my kingdom—.”

“Your own daughter?”

_ Stop. _

“—You owe it to Arendelle!”

His footfalls echoed in the hallway.

“Owe it!?” Iduna gasped, and laughed scornfully at her husband. She followed after him. “Agnarr, you're beginning to sound like your father.”

“You know  _ nothing  _ of my father!”

Elsa waited, still, still and not breathing, like an ice sculpture that could not be harmed, eyes wide and mouth shut beneath her own palm. Her heart pounded heavily, and her brain was filled with noise.

_ Please _ , she thought.  _ Mother, tell him he’s wrong _ . 

She heard her mother's breathing. She heard her take a step back. 

Then Father walked away, but she didn’t hear Mother move. Elsa didn’t abandon her hiding spot until she knew he was gone.

Mother turned around, then, her eyes settling on her daughter. Her hair was loose, falling down her back, and it was very messy, too. Very unlike her, just like the bags beneath her eyes and the dry tear tracks on her cheeks.

Her mouth twisted into what must have been a smile, but came out looking like a pained grimace.

“Elsa, baby,” she said, in an incredibly soft voice. “Please, go to your room and stay there. Please.”

Elsa wanted to say a million things yet her tongue pressed firmly against the roof of her mouth. She couldn’t open her mouth. Couldn’t even put her thoughts into words.

So she did the only thing she could bring herself to do: she nodded and scurried off, hiding behind her closed wooden door.

“I spoke to Minka Gáhppásdatter’s old apprentices today,” Anna told her from the vanity desk, as she pulled the ribbons out of her red hair. “They’re... They’re handling the business collectively now, but none of them is, you know, Minka, and they’re all still apprentices, so…”

From the couch, Elsa nodded silently. Anna frowned.

“Oh, Elsie,” she cooed, standing up and coming to hug her shoulders from behind. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Elsa replied quietly, which elicited a tired sigh from Anna.

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted.

“ _ Please _ ,” Elsa implored. “Tell me about your day. Did you speak to the ice harvesters?”

“Oh, yeah. Got the full weather report,” Anna replied. “But you’re not alright. Please, Elsa, I’m right here for you. Whatever it is, you’re not alone. So could you please… talk to me?”

Elsa exhaled shakily— the instability in her breath caught Anna off-guard—, and then slowly turned, looking up at Anna.

“Are you worried about Weselton?” She weakly asked.

Anna blinked.

“Uh… why?”

Elsa shrugged, and sank deeper into the couch. 

Anna gave her look full of fondness, and then tangled her fingers in her white hair, pulling apart the ribbons that held it together, softly carding through the locks wavy from pressure.

“Talk to me?” She pleaded one more time.

Elsa shuddered. She stared ahead, screwed her eyes shut, and then she told Anna a horrible story about her parents fighting, and about Father saying very, very cruel things about their mother and her people. Anna could feel the temperature of the room slowly drop, and she resisted the impulse to shiver or hug herself as to not discourage her sister, focusing instead of soothing her with her hands in her hair. 

“You were right, Anna,” Elsa eventually admitted, once she was finished. With a forced, bitter chuckle, she added: “I suppose Mother  _ is  _ one of them.”

Something in Anna’s chest broke. She sank to her knees, behind the couch, and crossed her arms over the backrest, with her chin on top of them.

“Oh, Elsa…” she breathed. “And you were right about being careful.”

She didn’t let it show, but her heart trembled inside her chest— stomach twisting, warping into unnatural shapes from her growing dread. 

“She told me the truth during our trip,” she explained. “I wanted to wait to tell you— so the three of us could be there, but something always came up, or I kept forgetting, so… sorry. This is a terrible way to find out.”

Elsa’s cold fingers— cold as a piece of ice, yet soft as human flesh— reached over her own shoulder to hold Anna’s hand on the backrest. She twisted her neck to see her.

“Don’t apologize,” she murmured. “I just…” she began, but in searching for the right words, she trailed off and needed to start again. “Anna, you attend to half the council meetings on my behalf. Did Father ever… did he mention me in regards to the conflicts with Weselton?”

Anna’s throat went dry. She took a deep breath, searched for the least painful words to explain, and then carefully recounted her conversation with Father in his study, months before. 

“I know he’s scared,” she told her sister. “He thinks we’re going to war and he wants you in it. He wants  _ me  _ to command you.”

She could feel Elsa stiffen next to her. By that point, she could see her breath in the air, but again, she hid it. She’d hate to cause Elsa more distress.

“I’m not letting him,” Anna continued, then. “Elsa, I’m  _ not  _ letting him touch you. You don’t have to hurt anyone. I know that’s not you.”

“Anna…” Elsa’s weak voice uttered, and Anna clamped her mouth shut.

Elsa slowly twisted her body to the side, to face her sister.

“What else does Father ask from you in council meetings?” She asked. 

Anna swallowed. 

“Well…” she hesitated. “He kind of thinks I’m responsible for you.”

“Go on.”

Her sister’s eyes were calm and severe but the trembling, doubtful cold in the room expressed a different feeling.

There was something she spent a very long time  _ dying  _ to tell her sister yet never dared to do so. She convinced herself it was inconsequential, unnecessary— just a passing comment she'd given far too much credit to back then— but any time she dared to face the issue, she knew she was fooling herself, and only her desire to shield her from this— like a child— like a caretaker— like she was responsible for her— was the only thing keeping her from blurting out the truth.

“Remember when I had to come up with a plan so they couldn’t give you the drugs?” She asked. “I always wanted to show them I could do it— that letting me handle it was everyone's best option, so they wouldn’t take it into their own hands and hurt you.”

Elsa nodded.

“Yes,” she quietly said, but it sounded like a question, a quiet question as she asked her to please go on.

Anna’s gaze lowered.

“I heard them discuss their options,” she continued. “Some of them mentioned Father should do what Runeard would have done.” A shiver ran down her spine. In an impossibly quiet voice, she finished her statement: “They wanted him to kill you, Elsa.”

For a moment, she wondered if Elsa had heard her at all, because she made no sound at all, but then the temperature plummeted once again— one second too late, as she processed the information—, and Anna unabashedly shivered as the cold seeped into her bones. It was unbearable and she still forced herself to bear it. This was nothing like the fresh light cold of the sea or the sky— no, this cold was damp and heavy, like wet wool, like a frostbitten mouth. When she finally looked up, she saw her sister staring at her, with brows furrowed in worry and a hesitant expression. The muscles of her neck were tense.

“Father wouldn’t do that,” she declared with a trembling voice, and Anna’s heart shattered. 

She wrapped her arms around her sister’s shoulders and held her tight, despite the couch backrest standing between them. She closed her eyes—  _ tightly _ — as her muscles, permanently tense as if struck by electricity, gripped Elsa’s cold, cold body, and she hoped to convey in her embrace everything she’d always struggled to let Elsa know— why she pushed herself beyond her limits for her, why she obsessed over her security, why she was  _ responsible  _ for her, in reality, even if neither of them wanted to— Anna didn’t have the  _ privilege  _ of not wanting to. She silently begged her to  _ please, please, please _ understand why she did it and why she was so scared. 

Because she  _ didn’t know _ what Father was capable of, and any chance of losing Elsa was too high a risk. 

She felt Elsa’s hand in her hair, keeping her close, too, unable to properly embrace her at this uncomfortable angle, but equally desperate to comfort her.

“Now he wants to use your magic,” she whimpered against Elsa’s shoulder. “You’re… you can't just ask the weather— or... or your magic to do things for you. You’re not a  _ weapon _ , Elsa. I—”

“I know,” Elsa reassured her. 

“He got so mad when I said I wouldn’t go along with it,” she continued, and then raised her head. “What if he tries to talk to you? You won’t listen to him, right?”

“I won’t,” Elsa insisted, and only then Anna noticed the pain in her eyes, the tight corner of her mouth. She cupped Anna’s face between both her hands. “Anna, listen to me: No one is hurting either of us. Not as long as we’re careful.”

Anna’s nose itched and her eyes watered. She sniffled.

“Careful how?” She asked. “Elsa, he’s not giving up. You know he’ll try again. What if he changes his mind about putting me in charge because he realizes it made things harder for him? What if he tries something else?”

Because Elsa’s loyalties no longer lied with their father and they both knew this. Anna was an obstacle in his way to command her power.

Elsa thought about it for a moment. 

“You’re scared he might try to make me lose control on purpose?”

Anna shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe? But… No. That seems a bit too extreme, even for him,” she deduced. “I think he’ll try to convince you somehow.”

“He won’t,” Elsa insisted. “And I won’t lose control, either.” 

Anna nodded. She felt Elsa squeeze her hand and pull, urging her to come sit next to her, so she did, rounding the couch before taking a seat next to her sister, and she was surprised when Elsa opened her arms for her to rest her back against her chest and rest. She felt two arms wrap firmly around her waist, and hold her, as they did back when she was ill, as they did when they were very little.

She wanted to protest, because their roles were meant to be inverse, but as the temperature raised, she realized just how tired she was. Everything from her muscles, jaw, and throat to her beating heart and her sleepless brain ached with exhaustion. Her eyes misted over for a moment.

“Sleep,” Elsa begged of her, and Anna closed her eyes, because  _ she didn’t know anything _ , they were at the brink of war and living with an unsafe man in a country where Northuldrean witches showed up dead underneath bridges— they built  _ stakes  _ for them— and the shadow of the previous King still elicited fear and anger among the population for that scary People in the North, whose magic, Anna would assume, resembled that of her sister. Anna didn’t have magic. No one had to know where her mother came from, but Elsa couldn’t hide like she did, so Anna needed to be the one to take up arms and fight. 

And Elsa wanted her to sleep.

But lying in her big sister's protective arms, exhaustion slowly seeped into her. She grew tired. So, so tired, and she only wanted to fall asleep knowing Elsa was safe in her arms.

She closed her eyes and sniffled.

“Let’s go to bed,” Elsa softly said, as if reading her mind, rubbing her hands up and down Anna’s arms. “Come on, Anna. It’s late.”

She stood up and pulled her little sister up with her, and with a self-deprecating chuckle, Anna wondered how come they’d switched places.

Once under covers, with the soft glow of the fire keeping them warm, Elsa tucked her in before lying down next to her. 

“I trust Mother to keep him in check,” she said. “We’re going to be safe, Anna.”

She sealed her promise with a chaste, soft kiss on Anna’s mouth, which left her lips tingling.

The corner of her mouth twitched. She scooted closer.

“I should be the one saying that to you.”

“Nonsense,” Elsa said. “Now,  _ sleep _ . I’m here with you.”

_ I’m here with you. _

Tears pooled at Anna’s eyes but she refused to let them fall. She knew she was getting sentimental, but Elsa simply had that effect on her. The mere idea of losing her was paralyzing. It made her turn into a scared child all over again. 

With Elsa’s arms around her, she fell asleep— it was still cold, and Elsa was clearly keeping some of her worries to herself for Anna’s sake, but she’d be getting nothing out of her, because everything that needed to be discussed already had been, and all that was left was the residual anxiety Anna knew would never truly leave them. So they might as well sleep with it and have nightmares. At least, she thought before drifting off, at least they could do so in each other’s arms.

The next morning, Weselton’s declaration of war was announced.

“We’re at war with the Grand Duchy of Weselton!” The newspapers disclosed. “At war with the Grand Duchy of Weselton over the definition of the southern Arendellian border! Weseltean ships have invaded Arendellian waters and settled on the Arensfjordjøkelen.”

Soldiers and sailors marched in organized chaos across the city. Ships readied at the port. The gates of Arendelle closed in anticipation of an attack.

The two princesses of Arendelle slept through the early hours of the morning, and had nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minka Gáhppásdatter’s apprentices said workers of the world unite uwu


	6. Chivalry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* this fic??? is back?? I wrote a stuff??  
> I know, I know, I'm late as fuck, but a bunch of stuff has been going on (not bad, just a lot) and just now I gathered the energy to proofread this monster. 20k words. why do i do htis to myself  
> I want to thank everyone who's still reading this fic. This must be the work I'm most proud of, and I'm really happy to get this far.
> 
> Disclaimer: i clearly know nothing about war or economy. don't come at me looking for accurate descriptions of war conditions. this is a disney lesbian incest fanfic

During the following months, the country found itself entangled in a chaotic sway of forces and emotions as its armed forces marched down into the southern border to combat the invaders haunting them from the fang-like seracs of Arensfjordjøkelen. Grief knocked on every door before the boys even left for war and desperate mothers clung to their frail uniforms with white-knuckled claws until they were pried apart, and those who did not freeze or starve in the Arensfjordjøkelen froze and starved in the country, as the enemy forces advanced and cut off supply lines from the port. By the time winter came again, muskoxen were sacrificed for their meat by their own desperate farmers and the kingdom saw a shortage of wool and milk, and the cattle farmers outside the city walls had to venture every day away from their villages and into the forest to chop firewood for their houses. The price of furs went up and hunters became desperate to protect their families during winter, as back in the farms, children shared one coat at a time, forced to walk at all times together with one sock each as the furs draped around both their shoulders, while the accumulation of unsold meat was targeted by hungry Weseltean generals demanding Arendellian citizens paid tax to the Grand Duchy in one way or another. Although this suffering was laughable when juxtaposed with the famine epidemic in the city, as they did no longer receive food from the country and the waters of the fjord became too dangerous for small fishermen, as the merciless metal machines from Weselton glided along its glacial waters. While the heat of the city protected them from the harshest snows it did not protect them from the high prices of meat as the crops died and the whalers and sealers refused to leave port until the war was over. Any official caravan that sought to deliver supplies from one end to the other was swiftly intercepted by the Weseltean army when they cut roads and executed enemy Arendellians, soldiers and civilians alike. Ships visiting seaside towns suffered the same luck. So, families resigned themselves to eating only three meals a day instead of four, until the last muskox in Arendelle was slaughtered, and the price of lamb and cattle shot up, so the children began to eat twice a day while the adults tossed a coin behind closed doors to decide whether or not they’d have their share at night.

Princess Anna received no news from the war front from neither her parents nor the arendellian press but she struggled to keep the morale up among her people, and between her sister and herself, as she saw the map shrink in her father’s study. Witnessing the misery of her country with her own eyes, she took it upon herself to figure out a way to deliver supplies from the country to the city and back. She spent many sleepless nights with her sister by her side, always so supportive as long as Anna didn’t tell her she planned on overseeing the operations herself. Right there, outside the gates. She didn’t admit the truth until after she presented her project to her father during a council meeting, which was supported by his most desperate ministers, and he was eventually forced to accept. Of course, there was no clause in her written plan specifying _she_ would be the one to travel, and she didn’t let her parents know until the day of her departure, as they signed a secret contract unbeknown to them. Only Elsa would know, and when she did, the room turned into ice and the vice-like grip of hands on Anna's shoulders tightened until her bones ground against each other.

“No,” Elsa declared, desperately shaking her head, and in her Crown Princess voice, she added: “I forbid it.”

Anna laughed, then, and wiped the tears from Elsa's face.

“They need me, Elsa,” she explained to her, in her most gentle voice. “And if Father can’t forbid it, then neither can you.”

“Can I convince you to stay, then?” 

The heartbreak and terror in her expression were so gut-wrenching, that Anna nearly sunk to her knees, buried her face in her sister’s stomach and began to cry, so she could be held and kept safe, but she swallowed back her own fear and pain like you’d swallow back raw meat, and let go of her sister’s hand.

“No,” she said. She reassured her poor sister that her plan was _good_ , that they’d be safe at all times, and that she’d come back to her soon. That night, Elsa grasped Anna's arms very tight and asked in an unbelievably weak voice:

“Does it have to be you?”

Anna’s heart broke all over again, as it always did when it came to Elsa. She kissed her sister in the mouth, to calm her nerves, and replied:

“I’m the Princess. If anyone should put her life at risk for her kingdom, it should be me.”

Elsa’s grip tightened.

“That isn’t true.”

Anna then frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Elsa's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. She caressed Anna’s cheek with the back of her hand.

“You’re my little sister,” she said. “Anna, you’re only seventeen. Please, let Papa handle it.”

Anna smiled at her older sister and took her hands.

“Oh, Elsie,” she whispered. “I don’t think he'll handle it.”

So the next morning, dressed in the uniform of captured Weseltean soldiers and with her hair in a small bun, she hopped onto Kristoff’s sled and lead her men out of the walls of Arendelle, all of which seemed to regain their morale as they realized their Princess would be the one in charge, and it filled Anna’s chest with a little bit of pride and a little bit of fear, because she trusted in her plan but she still feared something might go wrong and she’d end up leading her loyal men to their deaths. And she feared breaking her promise to Elsa, and leaving her alone with Father. 

It hadn't been her first time leaving the city of Arendelle-- the Ice Harvester's Guild House was half an hour away on horseback, near a lake--, but this trip was the most extreme to date. They traveled for many days in order to avoid the main road and mask their point of origin, crossing over frozen lakes and moving during heavy snowfalls to cover their tracks, and eventually surrounded the village east of the City of Arendelle, to enter from the opposite end, making it seem like they came from the east and not from the west. This trip alone lasted three days longer than it should have, and her men were cold and hungry by the time they reached the small farms. Anna did her best to hide her fear from everyone but Kristoff and Sven, with whom she shared a tent. She only cried in front of them, when the panic painfully gripped her heart and rendered her unable to breathe— a trembling, gasping mess. She cried in front of Kristoff when she didn’t cry in front of Elsa, because she didn’t want her to worry but Kristoff’s life and humanity didn’t rely on how stressed he felt, so he could rub a hand up and down her back until her ribcage unlocked and she could breathe again. And then she laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and tried to forget she was scared, but these episodes were becoming more and more frequent and she worried one may seize her in front of her men (or worse, her sister). Only with Kristoff by her side was she capable of facing the Weseltean lieutenant asking where she came from and reply:

“ _Goedendag_ , sir. We’re delivering supplies from the border.”

Her accent was flawless— she was Princess of Arendelle, after all, and she spoke the languages of all the Northern Kingdoms but the one she longed for the most. However, Weseltean was useful where Northuldrean was not, and on this occasion, it saved their lives.

“Who authorized this exchange?” Asked the lieutenant in the same language.

Anna fumbled with a forged letter she’d falsified with the help of her father and the Minister of War, using the name of a given general to convince anyone who’d ask questions, and she prayed the Weseltean man before her attributed her fear to her age and situation rather than guessing her true intentions.

“Move along. Make it quick,” the Weseltean lieutenant said.

“ _Dank je wel_ ,” Anna stammered, and gestured at her people to follow her. They knocked on every door they came across and were surprised to be welcomed with warm smiles and open arms before they spoke a single word in Arendellian, and Anna quickly connected the dots and attributed it to her being far too recognizable in the eyes of her citizens, with her white hairs and whatnot. She’d have to be careful if she didn’t want them to get caught. In less than five hours, they’d supplied the towns with enough wool and fibers to keep warm during winter, and in exchange, the farmers gave them meat, fat and milk to bring back to the city. They would visit seven more villages under Weseltean occupation before returning to the safety of the palace’s walls, and they didn’t get back home until two weeks had passed, during which they were completely uncommunicated from the Crown to avoid tracking and suspicions. Every time Anna observed the conditions of the country and spoke to the people, she saw less misery than she expected— all children ate four meals a day and the adults wandered the streets fearlessly despite the enemy soldiers—, and she became painfully aware of how the panic of the city had affected her perception of the situation. Back in Arendelle, the collective madness built up restlessly and penetrated in anyone who had ears to hear. 

“We are truly grateful, your Highness,” an old woman with a creaky voice said, as she helped Anna load the bags of salted meat into the horse-pulled sleds. “Your father has never been good at seeing the big picture, but I’m glad his daughter does.”

“I’m sorry, do you know my father?” Anna asked, stranged by the odd statement.

“Do you not remember?” The old woman asked. “My apologies, your Highness. You were very young when we were laid off, but my family has worked for yours for generations.”

Guilt gripped Anna’s heart. This felt like something she should have known.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are you— did you fare well after the gates were closed?”

“Do you want the truth?” The woman chuckled bitterly, and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “I know I’d like the truth of _why_ myself. But don’t worry for me, Princess. Your men are waiting for you.”

She pointed at the sleds, ready to take off at Anna’s command. By the time they were deep into the forest, Anna slapped a hand on her forehead, realizing she’d forgotten to ask for the old lady’s name. 

It was very dark the night in which they reached Arendelle, and Anna had been dozing off with Sven’s reins in her hands for the last six hours, but Elsa still waited up for her, and actually cried when they reunited, and she held her arms around Anna’s shoulders until it was too cold to breathe. 

“I’m back, Elsie,” Anna whispered into her sister’s ear. Her feet were weak from the fatigue, so they slid down to the ground. “Nothing happened. We were safe.”

Elsa kept her hands on her body all night— gripping her shoulders, her arms, her hands or her waist, tangled up in her hair or tracing the lines of her features—, absolutely _desperate_ for touch. And Elsa’s pain— the bags under her eyes, her hollow cheeks, her dirty hair— almost made Anna promise she wouldn’t leave again, but she didn’t know if she’d keep that promise, because the sheer, sobbing surprise and emotion that shook Arendelle upon Anna’s return with the food proved only that keeping her people fed while the soldiers fought in the Arensfjordjøkelen was a risk they needed to take. Father and his ministers had mentioned something about creating teams to transport supplies right under Weselton’s nose with Anna’s help, so she hopefully wouldn’t be leaving all the time— there was still a lot of work to do there, in the city— and she wouldn’t be giving her poor sister a heart attack every day. After so long, all she wanted to do was to kiss her, embrace her and fall asleep in her arms, with Elsa running her pinkie down the bridge of her nose. It was with Elsa that the panic assaulted her the least, because even though she knew it _had_ to be the other way around, she felt so, so safe in her arms, with the magic pulsating under her skin in the form of a warm human heartbeat, and with her strong, resolute love fueling her protective streak. Next time she recovered the _tablut_ board from its hiding spot, between the wall and her bookcase, she let Elsa play the unnotched pieces, protecting the King in the castle as the svierna protected their King from the czarist soldiers, surrounding the castle with him trapped inside. Elsa moved her pieces with the dexterity and viciousness of a game hunter, and Anna lost the war in less than ten minutes. For some reason, this brought her a lot of peace.

The exact reason behind the war was the definition of the Arendellian-Weseltean border, which had for centuries been considered to be the Arensbreen— a long, narrow tongue of ice that climbed down from the Ålisisen ice field. Both countries, however, wanted full ownership over the Arensfjordjøkelen, and demanded the border was redrawn to fit their whims. Anna couldn’t wrap her head around it (it was absolutely ridiculous. How could someone _own_ a glacier?), but it was still the cause of death of thousands of Arendellian and Weseltean soldiers, who slowly lost their fingers to the cold and the hunger of the glacier as they set their camps in the ice and shot their crossbows and muskets from one icy peak to the other. Neither party seemed to be making strong advances, focusing now more on surviving by burning wild muskox fat and eating their skin.

Meanwhile, Arendelle waited.

As the hunger was sated and the initial panic washed off, the population lived in a permanent state of dormant dread— a heavy-pounding heart, and cold sweaty nights. Now that hunger wasn’t a priority, unemployment was. The whalers, sealers, farmers, messengers, fishermen, a wide sector of the working class, the small merchants and anyone dedicated to the production of exported goods found their jobs coming to a halt, and unable to make a living, Anna suggested something to her mother, and together they spoke to Oaken Sjöberg, the most powerful merchant in the kingdom, about the possibility of the Crown paying for the supplies the people would need, because most children may eat four meals a day now but that did not mean the country wasn’t going through a crisis, and they struck a deal after turbulent negotiations: the Crown would pay an indemnization to the Wandering Oaken’s Trading Company three-quarters equal to the economic gains usually predicted for a year under normal circumstances, and they’d paid the final quarter with an interest of 75% once the war was over. Anna’s head already hurt thinking about a rise in taxes. She’d have to fully discuss that part with her parents to find alternatives in a future meeting, but that day, she’d promised her sister she’d have lunch with her in the library, where they often ate when they wanted some privacy.

The library had become quite cleaner during the past few years, certainly a result of Elsa often accompanying Anna on her visits there. All the books were in perfect order, and not a speck of dust adorned the furniture. Despite the lack of open windows, the air never felt heavy or stale; a bouquet of flowers on a table was replaced every two days.

Elsa smiled when she saw her sister, and playfully grasped her hand. The movement with which she pulled her close was almost forceful, but Anna laughed and sat in front of her. 

She tried to relax and enjoy her date (date? was it a date?) with her sister, she really did, but she couldn’t miss the odd, cautious gazes the palace staff gave them whenever one happened to walk into the library. The concern upon their faces put her on edge. 

She refused to hold Elsa’s hand, simply as an act of caution. She could tell Elsa was hurt but she’d explain it to her later. Anna slept with one eye open even when she wasn’t sleeping. 

It was rare the night that they spent apart. Most times they shared a bed— usually Elsa’s—, on which they both would lay, Anna straddling her big sister’s waist and Elsa with her arms around her neck, holding her impossibly close as their lips met over and over again in a desperate search for love and affection. It was difficult to explain to Father the presence of frost outside Elsa’s door in a way that would not frighten him— although it did frighten Elsa herself, who repeated under her breath an alarming string of words ( _conceal, don't feel, conceal_ ) until Anna managed to calm her down. She’d been concerned at first, too, worrying she might be pushing her sister too far, but she noticed the frost grew around them yet never touched her, and soon understood it didn’t come from Elsa’s fear nor pain, but from the innocent excitement she only experienced when she forgot about everything else-- when Anna became the center of the universe. She wouldn’t blame Elsa for letting her powers out if she felt the same way Anna did whenever she dug her fingers into her hair or squeezed her waist— warmth curling at the bottom of her stomach, a desperate tingling feeling spreading under her skin, and the urgent need to _kiss_ —, but she sometimes forgot Elsa wasn’t scared all the time— not anymore, at least. Simple kisses were something Anna hadn’t been used to in a long time.

Elsa tried to explain the ice once after she'd gained a better understanding of it, under her breath and under covers, with arms around a slim waist and her face half-hidden in Anna’s breast.

“I think my magic is trying to keep us safe.”

“Safe from what?” Anna had asked then, because nothing would breach the palace’s walls, to which her sister had simply answered by tightening her hold and hiding deeper into her embrace. She didn’t say any more words that night and Anna had the impression the enemy was closer than she’d thought.

After much attempting, Anna began to discuss matters of war with her mother rather than her father. He spent his days holed up in his study or with his council while Anna was down in the city speaking to petit-merchants and muskox farmers without muskoxen in need of an income to support their families. She checked in on Minka Gáhppásdatter’s workshop whenever she could, where everyone dressed in black and produced works of dwindling quality. Mother was, after all, a mother, and she occupied this place in the Crown of Arendelle: a caring figure concerned with the inner mechanisms of the country, rather than with the violent ordeals of foreign policy, like Father. She tried to keep their people fed and warm while Father sent them to fight in the Arensfjordjøkelen. Anna wasn’t stupid— she knew how mothers were seen by men, but she saw everything but weakness and sentimentality in the Queen. She held her head high and proud and always kept her own heart at arms’ length, to better think, to better navigate the mess that was the country’s internal economy. She stood up late with Anna aiding her in her paperwork, and spoke to men who intended to diminish her power and importance. It was a truly noble, truly important and praiseworthy job, what her mother was doing, and Anna was happy to help. She often accompanied her in Mother’s study, sorting through letters and telegrams, discriminating between what was urgent and what was not.

“Do they need supplies?” Mother asked. Anna, who could almost fluently read lines and dots on the paper without translation, carefully observed the message and then shook her head.

“No,” she said. “They’re doing fine, actually.”

“They are?”

“Yeah. They say they’re making advances, and that the wild muskoxen and reindeer traveling on the Arensfjordjøkelen provide food. Of course, they have water. The _do_ mention being cold, but they've organized small parties to climb down and gather firewood, so most camps are holding up.”

“Any loses?” Mother asked.

“Mostly toes,” Anna replied. “From the cold.”

“Any encounter with enemy soldiers?”

“Nope,” she let the paper plop down on the desk. “Apparently, glacier cracks make for great hiding spots.”

“Or great ambush spots.”

Mother put her quill down and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, sighing heavily with hours of exhaustion weighing on her back. Anna rose to her feet and squeezed her shoulder.

“Maybe you should go to bed.”

Mother chuckled.

“Maybe,” she conceded. “Let me finish this letter, and then we’re finished. I hope you’ll be going to bed, too.”

The memory of Elsa cuddled close to her the previous night flashed through her head, and fighting her blush, she gave a rigid nod.

“Y-yeah,” she stammered, like the idiot she was. 

She spent the following minutes pacing around the room, looking for something to help with, as she thought about what a great opportunity that would be to ask Mother about _that one thing_ she’d been dying to talk to her about, but always conveniently found herself in a situation that kept her from doing so. It had nothing to do with her cowardice, not at all. However, circumstances were more auspicious than she might have liked, and after ten minutes, she found herself unable to escape the urge to ask.

“Mother?” She began, taking a seat across the Queen. Mother’s eyes rose from the paper.

“Yes, love?”

Anna bit down on her lip, wrung her hands together, and let her eyes wander all over the place but Mother’s eyes.

“Oh, I was just wondering…” why was she so nervous? She’d been… no, no, she’d actually been more nervous when she first kissed her sister, or when face to face with a Weseltean lieutenant, but the matter at hand was a close… third. She took a deep breath. “You speak Northuldrean, right?”

Mother’s eyes widened, just a bit, and although she was visibly holding herself together, the muscles of her neck and shoulders tensed up.

“I do,” she confessed, in a very low voice. “But I haven’t spoken it in twelve years. I don’t remember much.”

Another deep breath. Anna bit back her second question— _why twelve years?_

“Would you teach me?”

If she wasn’t her mother, Anna would have thought there was no reaction— the Queen’s stare was as it had been moments ago, but she could see it, in the way her eye twitched, in the way her lips pressed together, in the tightness of her mouth. 

“No.”

Anna’s shoulders deflated, and a deep crack cut through her chest.

“Why not?” She demanded, and Mother sighed, her eyes dropping back to the letter, and frustration began to boil in Anna’s stomach, because Mother had never ignored her like this before, and to be denied answers— an explanation— as if whether or not she felt lost was a worthless question...

“I spoke it to you when you were little,” Mother recalled. “Do you remember?”

The words— the memory— did something to Anna. Her throat constricted. 

“I think I do,” she said. “I mean, I think I remember some sounds, but I can’t remember what they meant.”

Mother inhaled sharply. She moved the letter to the side.

“Anna,” she said. “Do you remember anything from before the gates were closed?”

That was a more difficult question— the first five years of her life were extremely blurry, but she guessed it was normal for all children to have a weak memory—, and now that she thought about it, she realized she couldn’t recall a single Northuldrean sound any more recent than the gates closing.

“I remember…” she vacillated. “I remember you singing something to us. And I think you had this… shawl…”

Sadness swelled behind Mother’s eyes.

“And what about magic, sweetie?” She pressed. “Do you remember Elsa’s magic?”

Anna knew the whole story— of course she did—, but she didn’t like to recall it. She preferred to enjoy her relationship with her sister in the here and now, rather than to hurt because of… everything that came before.

“We played in the snow a lot,” she recalled. “I remember we used to play in the main yard, or— or right past the gates, below the willow tree! Right?”

Mother sighed, allowing a painful silence to stretch between the two. She shook her head.

“You barely played outside,” she corrected her. “You’d rather play in your bedchamber, or in the ballroom. Elsa would create these winter wonderlands for you once everyone else went to sleep, and you two would play for hours.”

Anna’s heart broke a little bit. She couldn’t remember any of that, but it sounded so important, so sweet and lovely, that it was as if a piece of her relationship with her sister was missing. Any two siblings would play in the snow together, but not any sister would bring winter home only for her. It was an attestation of how much Elsa had always loved her and yet… the memory wasn’t part of her. Not anymore.

“I did speak to you in Northuldrean before that, yes, even though it wa forbidden” Mother continued. “I wanted you to have our songs, and our words, and our stories. When I first came to Arendelle, the Arendellian way of thinking frightened me, and I knew I wanted to teach my children something else. I… I guess I wanted you to be like us. Like me. I thought I’d be alone forever, but then your sister and you were born, and I thought… I thought that, maybe, you didn’t have to be entirely your father’s. I thought I could teach you to love what is natural without trying to own it and control it for your own gain, and change the Arendellian royal tradition for the better. For centuries, it’s been stuck in an endless cycle of conquest and control and cruelty, and I didn’t want you to be a part of it. But most importantly, after the Mist fell, I thought that... maybe our family could carry on and survive through what was lost.” Her breath was shaky and ragged. “But I stopped once the doors were closed. Your Father tried really hard to understand Elsa in the beginning, but after you were hurt, he couldn’t stop thinking about the magic that killed his father. Humans with magical powers aren't commonplace in Northuldra, but it’s not entirely unheard of, and I knew that if Elsa’s magic came from anywhere, it came from _me_ and our people. I didn’t know the full truth yet, but I knew I needed to protect my children. At the time, I thought the best way to do so would be to pass down to your sisters the teachings I’ve lived by for the last thirty years of my life.”

“Conceal,” Anna remembered.

“Don’t feel, don’t let it show,” Mother concluded. “I see Elsa told you about it. Sometimes, she reminds me of myself. She used to be so... so happy and carefree when she was young. I suppose this is what happens when you can't see the sky."

Anna’s nose stung. Her eyes watered.

“A—and your opinions on the matter haven’t changed, have they?” She asked hopelessly.

Mother, who looked on the verge of tears, glanced down.

“No. They have not,” she admitted. “We allowed you in almost three years ago, like we should have done a long time ago, but if we want to keep Elsa safe, we need to keep this secret. And the same applies to you.”

Anna blinked.

“Me?” She asked, pointing a finger at herself.

“I know you think Elsa is at the highest risk right now,” Mother said. “And I’d understand. Her magic is a target on her back. You and I can hide— you, especially, can hide, with that hair of yours. You can hide so well, I could hide this from _you_ for many years. But for Elsa, the same task is... inhumaly painful.” 

“Is that why you won’t teach me?”

“That’s why, yes,” Mother stated. “In part, because we can’t risk drawing any more connections between Elsa and my people. But most importantly, I don’t want _you_ to be in danger by getting close to us. Not when I could keep you away from it for so long.”

“But…” Anna stammered. “B—but they’re my people too, right?”

“No, Anna, they are not your people,” Mother insisted, with a trembling voice. “Y-you’re not like me, and believe it or not, that’s a blessing. You can’t be. Not yet, at least. Maybe one day, once the waters calm down, I could bring you and your sister back home, as I’ve always dreamed to do. But not yet. Not while it isn’t safe.”

A tear spilled from Anna’s open eye. She tried to keep her breathing even, but the impulse to hiccup overcame her. Mother’s eyes widened with concern.

“Oh, my love,” she murmured, standing up and surrounding the desk to gather Anna in her arms. “I—I’m sorry I can’t give you the answer we both wish for. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Anna said against her mother’s shoulder. “Mother, this isn’t your fault.”

_Conceal. Don’t feel._

Just like Elsa, just like Elsa. It must have hurt her so, so much.

“I’m just— I should be comforting you!” She pulled back, looking up at her mother. “I—I mean, you lost your home, didn’t you? A—and you must have felt so alone and scared and… And…”

“You lost something, too.”

“Yeah, but at least I have you,” Anna argued, and the realization suddenly dawned on her. “Y—you said thirty years?”

“I did.”

“That means you were twelve when you came here. A—And the Mist… You haven’t seen your parents in thirty years? You were twelve?”

The way her mother’s shoulders lowered warned Anna that she’d hit a far too delicate spot, and she wanted to take it back in that moment, but she couldn’t. All she could do was to hopelessly watch her mother rub one hand over her eye, trying to wipe away tears before they fell.

“It’s been a long time,” she commented.

“Mother… I’m so sorry.”

“No. It’s alright,” Mother softly reassured her. “It’s only natural for you to be curious about it.”

Anna swallowed. Her throat tightened, rendering her unable to speak, with heavy pressure on her chest and the knowledge of just how hopelessly lost and _lonely_ her mother was. She’d lost everything, with no way of going back home. The idea of losing her parents or sister was so horrifying, that Anna didn’t dare to entertain it, yet what to her was a nightmare, to Mother, it was reality. 

Anna blinked quickly. She didn’t know how to comfort her.

“Do you miss them?” She asked, because it must be a pain Mother had kept inside of her— _conceal, don’t feel_ — for a very long time.

She nodded shakily.

“I miss them a lot,” she replied. “I miss them every day.”

“What are their names?” _Are_ , Anna had said, because she wanted to believe they were still alive, somewhere in her mother’s home, still waiting for their lost baby.

Mother inhaled deeply, as in breathing in her strength.

“My mother was called Yelena,” she explained. “My father’s name was Olen. He was a fisher in our village, and my mother prepared the dyes for our clothes, among other things, but I remember these were the chores they enjoyed the most. She made a shawl for me, as her mother did before her. Our family has always had a secret recipe for a special kind of red, or so she told me, so our shawls were always quite distinctive.”

“Each family has a different shawl?” Anna asked.

“Yes, and you can tell what village and family each woman comes from by simply looking at it.”

“You don’t wear yours anymore.”

Mother looked down.

“I do not,” she agreed, and took a step back. Anna tried to think back to the times she’d seen the shawl, but she could barely remember it, or the instances in which Mother had worn it.

“Even though the gates closed?” She asked. “I mean, we’d be the only ones to see you with it. Isn’t that safer?”

Mother looked at her, and the pain behind her eyes was tangible*. It was as visible as the palace and as the white hairs on Anna’s head.

“Anna, there’s something I haven’t told you yet,” she confessed. “It’s something I haven’t told _anyone_. Not even your father, but I think it’s important that I do so with you. Do you promise to keep the secret?”

Anna’s heart slowly began to quicken with trepidation.

“I promise,” she said, without a shadow of a doubt. “What is it?”

Mother took a moment. She swallowed.

“Do you remember when we traveled north looking for answers about Elsa’s magic?”

“Yeah,” Anna said. “That’s when you decided to let me help.”

“We found the truth there. But I also saw something else in the ice,” Mother explained. “Ever since King Runeard’s death, it’s been told that the Northuldra attacked his men with their magic. For many years, I believed so, too.”

_No one can get in, and no one since has come out._

_So we’re safe._

“It was all I could believe,” she continued. “I—I had no choice. My people were the enemy. They were dangerous. I was twelve. I saw what Arendelle thought of us, and I still had to believe they were good and kind people, otherwise I would have gone mad from fear and loneliness.”

_Who attacks people who give them gifts?_

“But it wasn’t true, was it?” Anna asked, as the pieces began to click together.

Mother inhaled sharply.

“King Runeard attacked first,” she declared, angry and resolute. “I saw the memory. He built a dam to destroy Northuldra land, so they’d have to turn to him for help, because he saw magic as this wild, uncontrollable thing, and he couldn't live knowing something escaped his control. He thought the only way to consolidate his power would be to either submit it to his will, or destroy it.”

The horror began to settle at the bottom of Anna’s stomach. She breathed harshly.

She knew it. She knew the Northuldra wouldn’t attack people after they gave the gifts.

“So he killed them?” She asked, in a weak voice.

Mother averted her gaze.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I don’t know how much Agnarr knows. That’s why it’s so important that we stay safe, and why this is a bad moment for you to learn our language. Do you understand what I mean, love?”

Anna nodded, even though she didn’t want to, because it was all so incredibly unfair. She didn’t have words to begin listing all the levels of unfairness the whole situation fell on, but the frustration— for her family, for her mother’s family— built up in her stomach like crackling firewood. There was so much _wrongness_ that she didn’t know how to _fix_. But she still nodded, because it was the least she could do for her mother.

They hugged, and Anna tried her best to be a comforting rock to support her, something strong she could seek comfort in. Mother’s breathing, however, was quiet even, as if all of her tears had been shed long ago, so she could be calm now. 

“I think there’s something I can give you,” Mother said, though, after a moment, and slowly disentangled herself from her daughter's arms to open a small, key-locked chest hidden behind the books of her bookcase. Anna observed curiously as she dragged a long, blood-red piece of cloth from inside.

Its color was as bright and vibrant as it had been a decade back, with a wide, beautifully embroidered hem with a strong of eight-pointed stars, and long thin fringes, so silky that they’d spilled through her hands like water. Anna’s jaw hung open at the sight.

“Would you like to hide this with your _tablut_ board?” She asked. “Believe it or not, it might be safer with you than with me. No one would look for it in your bedchamber.”

“You… you’d give it to me?”

“You’re my daughter,” Mother simply said, as if that explained everything, and then handed the precious family heirloom to Anna, who held it like you’d hold a baby, a living creature— with love and care. 

She looked at Mother.

“I promise with my life I’ll keep it safe.”

Mother quietly chuckled.

“This shawl is important to me,” she said. “But you’re even more so. Be careful with what you promise.” She opened her arms. “Now, come here.”

Anna didn’t hesitate. She jumped into her mother’s embrace, wrapping her arms around her neck and holding tight, not with joy, not with pain, but with frantic desperation to… to… to find and seek solace, to tell her she was not alone and that she loved her, and to promise she’d do anything for her. 

They parted shortly after. Anna felt oddly at peace, despite the troubling revelations, or perhaps because of them. She finally had the truth. 

News from the front continued to arrive in an unintelligible stream of cheers and celebrations as victories were announced. The Arendellian army began to advance over the Arensfjordjøkelen, moving the line further south and forcing Weseltean forces to fall back towards the southern edges of the glacier. By springtime, so much Arendellian land had been recuperated by the Crown, that Elsa’s grip around Anna’s shoulders loosened, and she participated on her second expedition to deliver goods from the country to the port. She observed how the war meant the closure of the Arendellian port, and thus, the influx of imported goods was interrupted. An equal exchange between the country and the port was no longer an option, and the Crown had to pay big and small landowners in the country for their products— further indebting itself to private capitals, such as the Wandering Oaken’s company. They considered it would be sensible for a member of the Royal Family to oversee the procedure, and Anna, eighteen years old and proud as a horse, quickly found herself guiding her armed entourage through lost passages and forgotten cliffs known only by Kristoff and, according to him, his family, in order to march into occupied territory unseen and appear to have come from the Weseltean border. A few years before, after spending a week in her military uniform, Anna would have missed her pretty wool dresses, ballgowns and hair ribbons, but when push came to shove, she didn't care. She could only think about the paintings of battles, with swords and staffs— animal furs and dirty uniforms—, and observe they didn’t lie in this aspect— it was dirty. Dirtier than it was in winter, once the snow melted and left only mud behind, and when they set up camp, near the village, and Anna had the chance to take off some of her clothes, she didn’t even bother to pat off the dried mud-crust, because she knew it would be there again the next day. Instead, she spoke to her companions— all of them at least ten years older and equally dirtier, save for Kristoff, who was only three years older and three times dirtier than everyone else. Most of them had families waiting for them at home, and some had family fighting in the Arensfjordjøkelen. 

“P-pointless war. This war is p-p-pointless,” a young man stammered as he held his hands over the fire, trying to combat the cold. “I miss my mom. She always knew how to settle disputes without f-f-fightning. I never had to k-kill any of my brothers.”

“To be fair,” an older man pointed out. “Weselton did invade our waters.”

“T-t-then let them fight in the water!” The young man protested. “I-I-I don’t want to be h-here. I’m j-just a nurse. I should be b-b-back in Arendelle.”

“You’re a nurse?” Anna asked, sitting down next to him. As she better saw his face, she recognized him as Otto Mariellsen, whose Weseltean hat was so big, it completely hid his face. “That’s a… that's a pretty important job right now, righ?” She chuckled, and Otto Mariellsen chuckled back. 

“Not really,” he said. “It was h-h-harder a few years back.”

“During the muskox fever?” The old man asked.

“Yes. M-m-my whole family got sick. I had to treat a-all of them, T-t-the little one, Sanja, sh-sh-she...”

He put a hand over his mouth, seemingly more out of shame than pain. 

“I’m truly sorry,” Anna lamented. 

“I s-sent a letter to the King, asking for help,” Otto Mariellsen continued. “O-of course, he turned it down. E-even though one of my brothers is a c-c-cook in the palace.”

Anna’s heart sank a little. Oh, if only she’d been in conditions to receive him and his letters.

“What does your family need right now?” She asked.

Otto Mariellsen thought about it for a moment.

“Sheep,” he finally said. “F-for wool. My mom and brothers all w-worked with wool before. We had our own farm, but w-we had to slaughter them all for f-food.”

Anna made a mental note to speak to Mother about a loan of some sort for Otto Mariellsen’s family.

Their trip went more swiftly this time, and on the way back, Anna could actually take a moment to enjoy the view of the city and the fjord, so far below their spot on the mountains. She’d never been anywhere so high before, and she could feel the cold winter wind that hadn’t yet left slipping through every hair on her head. It was vertiginous, the altitude making her stomach churn and twist almost pleasantly, in the same way riding a racing horse does. The thin, crunchy mountain snow slowly gave way to the small sprouts of trees and flowers, dressing the mountainside in soft white, pink and purple colors. It was almost as if nature didn’t know nor care about the war in the Arensfjordjøkelen.

She couldn’t see her sister standing on the window from so far away, but she knew she was there, in the palace, surrounded by its heavy air and its dark colors. 

She knew she’d miss her, but it wasn’t only longing for her that seized her heart, no, but… an incredible sense of loss. Elsa’s loss, in particular. 

As Mother had said, there had been a time where they could be innocent and carefree, and play in the snow without a worry in the world. They could leave the palace and feel the wind and see the sun and the sky. Now? Now that was the privilege of only one child. 

The other one got to hide.

When they made it to the city, in the early afternoon, Anna held her sister for a very long time, even though she didn’t want to _hold her_ in one place— quite the opposite, in fact. But she didn’t know where to start. She didn’t know how to _fix it_ because it had all begun so long before they'd been born. 

Maybe it was paranoid of her, but Elsa couldn’t help but feel observed.

In the palace halls, in the dining room, in the stables and the gardens— everywhere she went to, she could feel the eyes of the staff on her, and a soft murmur— which perhaps was about the war— definitely was about the war, or the crisis, or people’s personal lives. It _had_ to be it. The alternative was too paralyzing to entertain. 

It happened the most when Anna was with her, holding her hand, embracing her in the hallway, brushing her hair or showing any trail of affection (which, for Anna, it meant any kind of interaction. Her sister was overflowing with love to share and the most simple look was charged with care and sweetness). Or maybe Elsa was more hyper-aware of their surroundings when they could be _seen_. She barely worried when they were in the safety of their bedchamber, when they could kiss and touch with abandon. 

“What’s wrong?” Anna had asked one day, as they lay together in the middle of the ballroom— Anna had insisted, for some reason, and she had Elsa sit with her back against a column while she placed her head on her lap, a book long-forgotten lying by their side, replaced by affectionate caresses as Elsa ran her fingers through Anna’s loose hair. She looked so beautiful, so strong and bright with her hair down. And so grown, too. When had her little sister grown up?

“Nothing’s wrong,” Elsa reassured her, but she could not fully hide the cold of her fingers. Anna knew it and she knew it, as she knew the maids Rina and Sigrid were cleaning not far from them. She couldn’t understand how Anna was so comfortable being seen— she’d even greeted the maids upon storming into the ballroom, dragging Elsa by her hand. For her, knowing the two women were there, curiously eyeing them, made every hair in her body stand up, every muscle stiffen and every movement be rigid.

Of course Anna, who’d been trained like a dog to identify and placate Elsa’s stress, would notice. 

She couldn’t help but glance at the maids, and when Anna followed her gaze, she exhaled.

“We’re not in danger, Elsa,” she whispered to her, sitting up and quickly pecking her cheek. She could swear ice crackled on the floor around them. “We’re going to be okay.”

She could feel her little sister’s soft, soft fingers tucking a loose strand of white hair behind her ear, from where it’s fallen out of her bun. A sudden rush of emotion and adoration washed over her, and she could barely fight against the impulse to kiss her sister right there and then. However, when she thought the maids weren't looking, she allowed herself to cup her cheek, and Anna, being Anna, nuzzled her palm and placed a kiss on it. 

_This won’t last_ , a voice inside of her said. _Love her now because this won’t last. They’ll come after you and put you in a pyre, as they do to all wicked and disgusting things, for this evil, evil thing you’re doing to your own flesh and blood._

It was evil, indeed, but when Anna looked at her with those big bright eyes, so full of adoration, she didn’t feel evil or wicked. She felt the cleanest she’d ever been. She didn’t know what she’d done to be worthy of her sister's affection, but whatever it had been, it must have been her redemption.

Most importantly, to know Anna loved her like this meant Elsa was capable of making her feel loved in the same way, and to make Anna feel as unconditionally cherished as she was, she considered her greatest feat.

 _I promise I’ll make you feel loved,_ Elsa thought. _I promise I’ll make you the happiest person on Earth._

Anna cuddled close and placed her head on Elsa’s shoulder, reaching with another hand to pick up the book. It had a big swan on the cover.

“Will you finish it?” She asked. “Please? You owe it to me.”

“For what?” Elsa chuckled.

“For worrying so much. Now, read.”

She got Elsa to take the book in her hands (she was happy to read for her. So, so happy, that she understood Anna had her wrapped around her finger) and, with her arms now free, Anna slung one around Elsa’s waist, and Elsa’s stomach churned with fluttering warmth and fluttering terror, as her heart quickened with every one of the maids' footfalls on the wooden floor.

Anna’s plan had been more complicated back in the planning stage than in the execution, but she was nervous nonetheless. It began with some kissing— yes, she planned the kissing part, because she knew she wanted Elsa to relax and, maybe, because she wanted to get her in that dumb lovestruck state in which she’d do anything Anna asked (not because Anna didn’t enjoy kissing her sister herself— she enjoyed it quite a lot, actually, but Anna’s own pleasure wasn’t the matter at hand). Of course, what was meant to be a means to an end soon turned into something a bit more exciting— cold hands in her hair, in her waist, soft wet lips gliding along with her own—, and she found herself on Elsa’s lap, holding onto her shoulders, feeling oddly warm and _really_ wanting to run her fingers down Elsa’s neck for some reason. Her lips, too. She wanted to kiss her neck, but she held back knowing that would probably be a bit weird and a bit gross. 

So she pulled away, and flopped back down on the couch.

“Is it getting a bit hot here?” She asked, fanning herself. “Wait. Quick, make a snowball.”

Elsa quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m not even going to ask what you want a snowball for,” she said, raising her hands as if saying _nope, no way._ “Come here. I think I have a better idea.”

She turned sideways, laying her legs along the couch, and then spreading them wide enough for Anna to sit between them and place her head on her chest. Now, she did feel ‘cool’, one could say, but the feeling of Elsa’s arms gathering her in, and her fingers running up and down her arms, waist and back, did little to quell any heat inside of her. It was a pleasant warmth, though, and she actually enjoyed the way Elsa’s soft fingers disentangled her hair and played with it. She reached for a brush from… somewhere, and then began to card it through Anna’s locks. She held the white strand between her fingers, and even though Anna couldn’t see it, she knew she was looking at it with disdain.

“I love it, you know?” She not-so-casually commented. “It’s like always having a part of you with me.”

“That’s the problem,” Elsa countered, in her best bitter big sister tone. “You shouldn’t have a part of me in you.”

“Why not?” Anna asked. “You have beautiful hair, Elsa. And I love my hair, too.”

She looked up at her sister, and it was a bit hard to decipher Elsa’s expression when looking at her upside-down, but Anna had the impression she was still scowling.

“You do know where it comes from, right?” She asked, this time more quietly. Her voice had lost its sharp edge, and she now sounded so much smaller and unsafe. Anna _really_ wanted to give her a hug, but the brushing of her hair was so nice and soothing, she didn’t dare to move and risk Elsa stopping.

“I do,” Anna confirmed. She swallowed heavily. “And I’m sad you and I were apart for so long. But we’re together now.” She found Elsa’s free hands and interlocked her fingers with hers. “We’re together now. I love you. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

The brush strokes stopped, much to Anna’s dismay. She could hear her sister take a deep breath, and she was about to ask if she was alright when a pair of lips pressed against her forehead. Anna smiled, as a more familiar kind of warmth spread through her chest. She reached her hand up to brush the back of her knuckles against Elsa’s cheek, her hair, and then Elsa’s lips moved once again, this time to peck her lips, despite the awkward angle. She kissed her again. And again. Quick, short pecks that made Anna laugh, as her sister attempted to kiss her more. Her lips landed in the corner of her mouth and on her cheek.

“Elsaaaaa…” she playfully whined. Elsa’s hands softly pulled her red hair away from her face.

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding a bit sorry. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“You know you can kiss me whenever you want, right?” Anna asked, “I’ll all yours.”

“...Well,” Elsa said, and Anna didn't miss her blush. She almost laughed at her sister looking so awkward, but it was such a rare sight, she didn’t dare disturb it. “I can’t kiss you when people are around.”

Anna rolled her eyes.

“You know what I mean,” Anna said. “Really. If you ever want anything just… take my hand and bring me here. Or to my room. Whichever is the closest.”

“That would be rather suspicious, wouldn’t it?”

Anna sighed.

“You worry too much,” she pouted.

“Oh, excuse me?” Elsa pinched her cheek. “I wasn’t aware you truly were as laid-back as you make people think.”

Anna frowned.

“I’m laid-back!” She exclaimed.

“Are you?”

“Of course I am!” She insisted, sitting up. “Super laid-back.”

“Then stop worrying about me,” Elsa said. She then shook her head. “Never mind. I just want to enjoy this time with you.”

Anna agreed. She could see where the conversation was flowing, and she’d honestly rather not think about Father, Weselton, King Runeard or any threats that could be lurking around. Which was probably what Elsa wanted of her— to stop worrying, right? Although to Anna, that sounded like letting Elsa carry all of the worry alone, repress her feelings and then pretend she’s not on the edge of collapse. 

“Me too,” she said, holding both of her sister’s hands, and a tiny voice in her head reminded her that _this_ was the perfect time to voice her request, so she better stop chickening out and spit it out. “Actually… I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“You know, just a suggestion. We don’t have to actually do anything. But… I was wondering… I was wondering if…”

Elsa’s hands squeezed hers affectionately. She offered her an encouraging smile.

 _Go on,_ the touch said. _I’m right here with you, and I love you._

Anna gulped. Oh, she was so madly in love with her. 

“...Would you like to build a snowman?” She timidly asked, with a string of voice. “And… and do the magic downstairs?”

Elsa’s smile vanished, and Anna knew she’d messed up.

“Or we could just… stay here,” she tried to backpedal. “And not do any magic. I like just being here with you. It’s really comfy. It’s a bit late. Maybe we should actually head to bed now, right?”

“Yes,” Elsa said. “I’d love you, Anna.”

“Go to bed? That’s perfectly fine. Maybe I should go get some firewood.”

Elsa laughed out loud, with that beautiful, wonderful laugh that made Anna’s mind screech to a halt. She could watch her laugh forever.

“No, I mean…” Elsa shook her head. “I’d love to build a snowman with you.”

Anna’s heart spiked up.

“R-really?” She asked, unable to repress the grin that took over her face. Elsa seemed to be in a similar situation, with a shy smile of her own.

“Yes,” she said. “I guess I owe you one, don’t I?” One of her hands came up to brush Anna’s hair away from her face— she wanted to see her better. “Besides, I miss them.”

“You do?”

Elsa nodded.

“You won’t believe how much I wanted to open the door to you every time you came knocking,” she softly said, and if Anna could fall in love all over again, she would have. “I want to make up for our lost time. Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t ask before.”

“Oh, well,” Anna said. “Guess I was nervous. And I could tell you didn’t feel confident when it came to your powers. But now…” She squeezed Elsa’s bare hand. “I think you’re doing great.”

Once the palace was quiet and asleep, Anna dragged her sister down the stairs, holding both her hands like it was second nature. She could remember the old feeling of Elsa’s hand in hers, even from before— that part wasn’t missing, but the new connotations the act had (in the way Elsa’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, in the way this made her stomach give a flip) — it made her feel warm and fuzzy, and her heart pounded wildly with excitement at the idea of getting this back. 

Their feet almost glided down the stairs— only tripping a couple of times—, leaving a quick succession of thuds behind, and they eventually brought them to the ballroom. Anna couldn’t remember ever seeing it this way, so dark, silent and lonely, and the change was exhilarating. It felt like a completely different room, new and young, full of adventure, and even though she knew she should find it familiar, she didn’t, and that only made her long for this even more. 

They found themselves at the center of the ballroom, holding hands and breathing quickly. She could feel Elsa’s hands trembling.

“Are you alright?” She asked her, trying to hide the note of worry in her voice. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Elsa swallowed.

“I do,” she said, and brought her hand up to stroke Anna’s cheek. The touch alone sent sparks down her spine. Goodness, how could she be so perfect? “I do want to.”

She inhaled deeply, and let go of Anna to stand a few feet away.

“I can't remember the last time I used them on purpose,” Elsa said, which made Anna’s heart quicken and swell with anticipation. “But… I think I can control them.”

“I _know_ you can,” Anna reassured her, with a smile.

Elsa smiled back— it was a nervous, endeared, crooked smile—, and took another deep breath, to build up her courage.

She brought her hands up, before her, taking another step back— and another, and another—, as her palms moved around each other in circles. Anna’s breath hitched when she saw the light, the blue sky-like, star-like light, followed by big white snowflakes, like those from the most vigorous winter storms, like the strong lungs of the North Wind, and like a brave human heart, pounding against a ribcage. The power in Elsa’s hands was breath-taking, a force of nature, something that, after years locked into stone, roared for the white sky.

When the wind hit her face, Anna was transported to the vertiginous sway of the ship and the cold breath of the Arensfjordjøkelen. She staggered back, her lungs filling with the smell of winter, which tasted like the snow and ice from the mountaintops. It cut and numbed her skin, reddened her fingertips, and made her heart leap like that of a rabbit as she caught sight of the glowing snowflakes, soft and delicate yet so immensely grand, their magic seeping through. The glow flickered like a heartbeat. 

Elsa giggled, a few feet away from her, and Anna giggled back, even before realizing she was looking at her red bangs, which had frozen into a funny-looking mess. 

“You’re laughing at me?” Anna shouted, and Elsa shook her head, still laughing and covering her mouth with her hand. Her beautiful white hair had fallen from her bun, and now waved in the soft glacial breeze. Anna’s stomach gave a leap. Her heart still raced— so quickly, so strongly it was making her dizzy—, and a new laugh bubbled up her throat at the sight of her sister’s happiness. 

She took two long steps towards her and grabbed her hands.

“Show me what else you can do.”

Snow spread across the ballroom at Anna’s request— _for you, anything for you. Always for you_ —, reaching every column and decorating the throne with dusty, powdery flakes. Soon, there was enough for Anna to make snowballs, and when Elsa was busy keeping the magic in a restrained space, with a concentrated look in her eyes, Anna threw one at her. She saw Elsa’s shoulders hunch from behind, and she lamented the fact that Elsa didn’t feel cold, because she’d love to shove snow into the neckline of her dress. Now, that would be hilarious— watching her shriek and squirm. Oh, Anna would have such a laugh, and then she’d kiss her to earn her forgiveness, but since she could not feel cold, she had no way to fight back when Elsa flicked her wrist and sent blotches of snow in Anna’s direction. Now, it was Anna’s turn to shriek and Elsa’s turn to laugh, because the snow _did_ leak into _her_ dress. She tried to gather more snow and fight back, but it was just like playing _tablut_ : she could only win if her older sister allowed her to win. Which ended up being the case, as Elsa gave in after no more than ten minutes of chasing each other around. Out of sheer love and adoration, she let Anna direct her power, and what Anna requested, she delivered. With one hand she showed her a reindeer stampede, a sailing frigate, a family of arctic puffins, and Anna watched, eyes wide and jaw slack, the snowy silhouettes dance and glow in the dark ballroom, as she squeezed Elsa’s free hand tightly in her own. The wind at her back, always at her back, howled so loudly, she could close her eyes and almost pretend she and her sister were sailing down the Arenfjord, or climbing up the Black Mountains. With red and numb fingers, she held onto Elsa and danced with her on the ice, even though she could barely keep her balance, even though she depended on Elsa catching her every time she slipped (and she always did, always did). She saw themselves on a frozen lake, on a mountain valley. And she laughed. She laughed like never before, as if her country wasn’t at war, as if her mother wasn’t in pain, and as if her sister wasn’t behind bars, because with her she brought a little bit of arctic magic, a little bit of wind, just enough to breathe. 

_One day,_ Anna thought, one day, _I’ll get you out of here. I’ll fix everything. I will be your knight. I promise._

They fell on the snow, Anna still holding onto Elsa and shrieking as they lost balance. The snow softened their fall, though, and the cold was a perfect excuse to cuddle close to her sister and use her chest as a pillow. She all but forgot about the snow when Elsa’s fingers began to play with her hair, caressing her cheek, as if admiring her, and Anna’s heart began to pump warm blood through her body again. 

She smiled.

“Are you cold?” Elsa’s soft voice asked.

Anna shook her head.

“No, I’m not,” she soothed her, and shifted in place to find a more comfortable position. “This is perfect, Elsa. Thank you.”

Oh, she couldn’t wipe that big dumb grin from her face. Especially not after feeling Elsa’s lips on her hair. A sudden rush of affection seized her heart.

“I’m sorry,” Elsa continued. “We haven't build a snowman yet.”

Anna giggled, and wrapped her arms around her big sister’s waist.

“Well, you’re not getting away from me now,” she said. “Think you can build one from here? With your magic?”

Elsa’s chest shook with a small laugh. Her gentle hand rested on Anna’s red hair.

“I’d rather build one with you,” she said, and because she always knew what to say to make Anna all flustered, she fell silent at her big sister’s words, almost paralyzed from love, unable to decide what to do or how to begin to express it. Kissing her was always a great option, but she was so comfortable lying with her, that she didn’t want to sit up. 

“Are you alright?” Anna then asked, cranking up her neck to better see her sister. “I mean, did you have fun? I know you were nervous. I didn’t mean to push you or anything, I just— I just thought… because I spoke to Mother earlier this week, and she told me we used to play like this, _here_ , and… I guess I wanted to…”

Elsa laughed and pressed a kiss to Anna’s head.

“I missed playing with you,” she said. “I’m glad you asked me to do this. I don’t think I’d ever dared to suggest it myself.”

“I also wanted… I don’t know.” Anna tried to look for the right words. “I guess I wanted to see you doing magic. It’s been so long and I remember so little, and all I’ve ever seen of it was what you couldn’t hide, but I think I loved it when we were little. And it’s a part of you, so… I wanted to love it again.”

Much to Anna’s dismay, Elsa’s hand slowly retreated from her hair.

“What do you think?” She asked, in a very low voice. 

Anna grinned.

“I still love it,” she playfully whispered. “Wanna know a secret?”

She couldn’t see well, but she could almost feel Elsa raising an eyebrow.

“What is it?” She asked.

Anna leaned forward and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“I love you.”

She made Elsa laugh, again, which must be the greatest accomplishment in her life, because when Elsa sat up, she pulled Anna up with her and rewarded her with a long, soft kiss in the mouth. Anna couldn’t help but sigh, like a helpless little princess, as their lips brushed together and Elsa’s hand cupped her cheek.

They’d come so far, so far. Together. 

Elsa pulled back with a smile.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you,” she murmured, still so close to Anna’s lips.

“What is it?” Anna asked, half-wanting to hear what Elsa had to say and half-hoping to go back to the kissing part.

Elsa nervously bit her lip, and averted her gaze. 

“I’d like to leave the palace,” she confessed. “I feel ready. I’m not scared. I'd like to speak to Father about it, but I wanted you to know first.”

Anna’s mind slowly processed the words. She then immediately jumped to her feet.

“You want to leave?” She asked, as a grin took over her face. “Oh, Elsa, that’s great!” She threw her arms around her, falling back on the snow, and laughed into her ear before quickly pulling away. “Oh, this is gonna be so great! I have so many places to show you. Should we go tomorrow? We can visit the port and the clocktower and the bakeries. I… don’t know which one you’d like the most, actually. Guess we’ll have to visit both. Is that okay?”

Elsa giggled and held both of Anna’s hands.

“It’s perfect,” she said, and because she loved Anna as much as Anna loved her, she leaned in to kiss her. She smiled against her big sister’s lips, and kissed her again, and again, and again, as Elsa’s hands came up to cup her face, the back of her head. A shiver ran down Anna’s spine as she felt Elsa’s fingernails scratching her scalp, as she cupped her bottom lip between hers, as she pulled her closer to her body, and her hopeless hands ended up holding onto her big sister’s shoulders for leverage. She could feel Elsa shiver, between tender and desperate, shy and a little bit braver than she’d been before, and it suddenly hit her (again) just how much her sister loved her. She loved her enough to isolate herself for ten years, and she loved her enough to wake up at midnight to play with the snow when they were children, just to make Anna smile. Most importantly, she loved her enough to do _this_ — again—, to take her hand and walk with her, to _try_ even though it was so hard for her. It was such a brutally selfless love, that Anna feared she’d never be able to give it back, but goodness, she’d try, and her act of love would be to grant her the freedom she’d denied her before, by getting herself hurt and locking her sister in stone. She’d fix it for her. She’d fix _everything_.

The crash made her flinch, and she instantly felt cold, so, so cold— Elsa’s hands on her skin were unbearable, and when she jerked her neck and looked around, she was met with the horrified eyes of two maids-- Rina and Sigrid--, one of which had just dropped a pile of plates. Ceramic shards lay scattered over the floor. 

It took a moment for the horror to settle, and when it did, Anna blanched, her stomach dropped and as her brain was saturated by the words ‘ _no, no, no_ ’, she scrambled up to her feet to approach the maids, say something—anything—, but her throat was locked and her mind, overran by panic. Her heart pounded hard enough to hurt, and her vision flickered— faltered— she struggled to breathe. 

She took one hesitant step towards the maids, and like scared cats bristling their backs, their shoulders rose to their ears, eyes widening, and they ran, scrambling away from Anna as if she were about to bite them.

Her chest hurt, locked in place. She couldn’t— couldn’t breathe. She needed to— She needed to stop them. Needed to speak to them. Tell them it wasn’t what it looked like— and she felt so cold, so cold. She took three steps forward and remembered her sister was still behind there, and her brain took three seconds to catch up with her body as she turned around to face Elsa. 

“E-Elsa, they…”

Elsa inhaled sharply.

“We— we need to do something, right?” Anna asked. “I-I… Elsa…”

Her windpipe locked for a moment. All around them, sharp, untamed ice cracked and climbed up the walls.

A pair of hesitant hands seized her shoulders, the thumbs rubbing circles on her nightclothes.

“Anna, listen to me,” she heard Elsa’s voice. “Can… can you breathe?”

Anna shook her head.

“We need to go after them.”

“Try to exhale.”

Elsa’s cold, cold hands retreated, as if they’d overstayed their welcome, even though Anna desperately needed them back. But she tried to obey and breathe out, so she could breathe in again.

“W-what about the snow?” Anna asked. “Oh, Father will kill us. This was a terrible idea. A-and they saw… Elsa, they saw…”

“I know!” Elsa quickly hissed. Anna clamped her mouth shut. “I-I know. Anna, y-you need to go back to your room. Now.”

Anna’s shoulders deflated. No, no, she couldn’t be alone _now_.

“Without you?”

“Yes, without me,” Elsa declared. “We’ll sort things out tomorrow. I promise. J-just, please. Let’s go.”

With trembling, clumsy legs, Anna followed her big sister up the staircase and down the halls. Elsa’s footfalls were quick and rigid, tense as she approached her door. She offered Anna a quick ‘goodnight’, without even looking at her.

“C-can’t I stay with you tonight?” She begged. Elsa sighed, and Anna could tell it hurt her to say what she did but that didn’t stop her.

“It’s too dangerous,” Elsa insisted. “We shouldn’t be seen like this. Anna, please. _Go_.”

Anna’s heart cracked open, her vision blurred— and she could see tears pooling in Elsa’s eyes, too. She desperately wanted to cling to her but she knew her sister was right— they didn’t know where this would lead into and they needed to take all precautions possible.

“O-okay,” Anna finally gave in. “Goodnight, Elsa. I love you.”

Elsa’s breath hitched. She took a step back, retreating into her room.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, and almost too quietly for Anna to hear, she added: “This was a mistake.”

The door closed on Anna’s face, and she found herself alone— alone, in the dark, cold hallway—, barely able to breathe and with a heavy sense of dread clinging to her stomach. She could hear nothing but the echo of crashing plates, a slamming door, and her own uncontrollable heartbeat in her ears. 

She was beginning to feel dizzy, but still forced her legs to take her back to her room. She needed to speak to the maids— they’d looked so horrified, so _disgusted_. Mother’s words about staying safe haunted her well into the night, guilt and shame clutching at her chest, and impossibly cold, empty sheets swallowing her body. 

Anna slept with panic and woke up feeling panic. The maids— they were her first thought. Crashing plates. Cat-like bristling. Her second thought was Elsa, whose emotions couldn’t and _shouldn’t_ stay inside her body— it was Anna the one who could push through them, not her sister. So despite her trembling fingers, she rose from her bed, rose quite early, at sunrise, even, as the nauseating dread had her only half-sleeping for the four hours she could spend with her eyes closed. 

She needed to find Rina and Sigrid, and corroborate they hadn’t told anyone. She could even lie, perhaps, and claim she was only resting her forehead against Elsa’s or kissing her nose, as sisters do. Once she knew the maids would be silent, she’d be able to breathe again.

If— if they hadn’t been silent… well, Anna would rather not think about that. Not while she needed her mind clear enough to think.

She climbed down the stairs and had lunch with Mother, as Father was busy. Elsa was nowhere to be seen and when she asked about her, Mother simply said she’d requested to eat in her bedchamber. Anna knew that, unless she made the time to see her mother as she worked, this would be her only chance in the day to explain herself or— or lie to protect her and Elsa’s secret, but Mother didn’t look disturbed in the slightest, and this calmed Anna’s nerves enough to pretend she was fine when Mother, showing her only sliver of concern of the morning, asked if she was alright. 

“I’m good,” Anna reassured her. “Just… busy.”

“I won’t feel insulted if you go on with your day,” Mother said, then. “Go ahead, love. We’ll speak later.”

Anna hesitated, studying her mother’s expression for any sign of awareness or deceit, but when she saw none, she slowly rose to her feet and decided to look for the maids. 

It took her nearly an hour to give up and decide to visit Elsa. Before that, she wanted to check every dark little corner of the palace looking for the witnesses, so she could settle everything quickly and give her sister a solid, reassuring answer. However, she soon realized this would be impossible, despite asking around for them in the kitchens, in the stables, and in every hall and corridor she found herself in. Only the head cook gave her a worthy answer:

“It’s their day off,” he’d say after Anna’s vehement insistence, with a hint of contempt in his voice, and then resumed chopping the heads off living ducks. 

Day off. Right. That meant Anna wouldn’t speak to them until the following day, which would give them enough time to tell her parents, or anyone who would listen.

They seemingly didn’t, however, and Anna clung to that one flicker of hope and prayed they’d kept what they’d seen to themselves. She considered going out into the city and paying them a visit, but quickly dismissed the idea as soon as she realized how intimidating that would be. Her only remaining option was to return to Elsa and hope for the best.

She knocked on a cold door and it opened for her. Her sister stood by the window, looking through the glass at the snowy mountaintops so far away from them. 

She turned around when she heard her enter, and for a moment, her eyes were cold and hard like ice. Anna's throat constricted, and the half-open door between them suddenly felt like an infraction— a crime. The frightened part of her nearly closed it shut and left, but Elsa stopped her.

“Come here, Anna. Please.”

Anna swallowed, and obeyed. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, a pair of soft arms enveloped her shoulders. Oh, she could have sobbed in relief from having her sister with her again. She slowly turned around to wrap her arms around Elsa’s waist and rest her chin on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Elsa murmured. “I shouldn’t have left you alone last night.”

Anna shook her head.

“It would have been riskier if you hadn’t,” she argued. “I couldn’t find the maids. I-I don’t know where they are, Elsa. I don’t know if they talked to someone o-or if Father knows— I think Mother doesn’t know, but maybe she hasn’t found out yet…”

Her big sister’s arms tightened protectively around her. Anna buried her face in her shoulder. 

“I’m scared,” Anna squeaked weakly. “Oh, Elsa, what are we going to do?”

She felt cool fingers softly grazing the skin of her neck, her hair, her scalp, not pulling or pushing, simply… holding her in place. The touch quelled her anxious heart.

“I’m not good at this,” Elsa said. “But… I think you'd say we will solve this together, right?”

Anna chuckled, but the sound she made was more akin to a sob.

“Y-yeah.”

“You can stay with me for as long as you need. I panicked last night, but I won’t push you away again.”

Anna slowly pulled back. 

“I didn’t notice you panicking,” she mentioned. “You look very put together, actually. I-I thought you’d be more scared. How are you not scared?”

Elsa’s hand came up to cup Anna’s cheek, and as it always did, her heart skipped a beat. 

“I think you need me.”

Anna frowned.

“But… I thought we talked about it. You don’t have to conceal _anything_ , Elsa.”

Elsa screwed her eyes shut, as if holding back her annoyance. Anna didn’t want to be ungrateful— she was so incredibly thankful for having such a sweet, kind, wonderful big sister—, but this was supposed to be her responsibility. Not Elsa’s. 

“I’m just trying to look after you,” Elsa admitted. “I’m scared, too. I’m not concealing anything from you.”

“But…”

Elsa’s hands gently gripped her arms.

“Please, Anna,” she said, in a quiet, tired voice, and the strain in it made Anna shut her mouth. Elsa wouldn’t stop and Anna didn’t want to fight. If anything, insisting might only make her sister feel worse.

So when she grabbed her hands and pulled her towards the couch, Anna followed suit. Elsa didn’t say they’d be okay, because she didn’t know and she wasn’t an optimist— she could only pretend for Anna so far. And she didn’t cry, either, even though the air was so, so cold. She still kept the fire going, though. Every time Anna visited her bedchambers, the fire would burn, because Elsa knew her sister needed it, and this was just another subtle act of affection that always made Anna’s breath hitch. Just like the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. Just in how she held her hands. And it could all end so quickly— if only the maids spoke to Father— if only he decided to split them apart again… She could lose her sister and… And…

Elsa’s hand on her cheek brought her out of her thoughts.

“Would you like to play a game?” She asked. “We can go fetch the _tablut_ board, if you want.”

Oh, her sister was trying to look after her. She truly was the sweetest person on Earth.

“I’ll go get it,” Anna replied, and gave Elsa a quick peck on the lips before rising to her feet and making her way into the corridor, where she alternated between sprinting as to not be seen, and walking slowly as to not miss Rina and Sigrid should they suddenly appear.

Once in the safety of her bedchambers, she dropped to her knees before her bookcase and stuck her arm between the furniture and the wall, feeling for a wooden box or a silky shawl.

Her stomach dropped when she found neither.

She blanched. With stuttering movements, she tried to peek with her eye into the narrow space. It was dark. She searched for an oil lamp and when she found it, she took a better look. 

They were gone. Both the _tablut_ board and Mother’s family shawl— gone. In their place, there was only fluff and dust.

Her eyes misted over with fear and frustration— _someone_ had taken them. Someone had _seen_ them. Someone out there, like Rina and Sigrid, knew they were in possession of forbidden objects. 

Once again panic seized her. Her heart jumped and continued to jump, harder with each pound. 

They were gone. She’d lost her mother’s shawl. 

The room closed in on her. Her vision disfigured for a moment. She needed to get out of there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this episode of lesbian incest fanfic i’d like to apologize to *checks notes* the Netherlands. I’m adding you guys to my bingo. Soon I’ll have the whole european union after my head.  
> also ik the second half of this chapter looks like a big innuendo at times but i promise it’s not guys i promise  
> Alright, now... onto chapter 7. This chapter is gonna be SO HARD to write. I have to tie everything up and... oh boy. Oh shit. Alright. Here we go.


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